The Last Castle
by Greenbean347
Summary: Sequel to Your Freedom Lies North. Our heros face tougher obstacles and tougher enemies than ever before, all while trying to construct a castle they hope will save the lives of their countrymen. Finally, an update!
1. Chapter 1

A little pre-explanation: The characters in the story refer to this castle as the Last Castle, which, to them, means the last castle before the border. I named this story The Last Castle, not because of that, but because theoretically this will be the last castle ever built in Archenland. During this point in Narnia's history, we're nearing the end times, so it would be safe to say that no other castle will be built again, though of course our characters have no way of knowing that. Alrighty, have I confused everyone enough? On with the story!

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia, Archenland, and all that jazz.

Chapter 1.

It was a perfect Narnian morning. The sun had just risen above the treetops, illuminating the dewy drops on the grass, making them shine as though a thousand diamonds littered the floors of southern Narnia. It was the beginning of a chilly autumn day, the leaves just beginning to change their colors. There was no fall like a Narnian fall, everyone decided; presently, the forest would be a blaze of colors, from reds to oranges, from yellows to browns, and in no particular order, a wonderful and exciting masterpiece that Narnians liked to believe was painted especially for them each year. This beauty was talked about all over the world, and many made the pilgrimage every year just to see this magical moment.

The peacefulness was abruptly disturbed by a hurried rider as he thundered across the land on his swift steed. This rider had no time to stop and marvel at nature's masterpiece, nor did he have time to spare a thought to his destruction of the dewy diamonds as he tore across the fields. Like all important men, he had neither the luck nor the luxury of stopping to take in the beauty of the country of his birth.

The rider allowed his horse no rest until they came to a wide, heavily forested area. Now he stopped, peering this way and that, doing his best to remember his directions. He dismounted, gave the young mare a few pats on the neck by way of apology, and together man and beast walked through the glen. The mountains rose directly in front on him, and from them a cold breeze blew down. The rider shivered, and wondered how on earth these dwarves managed to live like this.

He finally remembered his way, and presently his way brought him to a rock face, about twenty feet high, that was inlaid into the mountain. He wasn't exactly sure what to do next, until he noticed the peculiarly shaped rock that had been described to him. He stamped on it hard three times, then waited with moderate patience as it was moved away and the face of a rather cheerful looking dwarf whose face did its best to feign fierceness, poked out.

"You're late, Sir Galian,"he jeered.

"Late? It's not even eight o'clock."

"Griffle is an important leader. He doesn't have time to waste on proposals he knows he will turn down,"the other said, ushering Galian inside. Too late, Galian hit his head on the rooftop, and after cursing irritably for a few seconds, he returned his attention to the gatekeeper, "If he was always going to turn it down, why would he agree to meet with me?"

"He wants you to know what he thinks of the whole issue. About building a castle that's going to be a safe haven for every Calormene brat and riffraff that would like to call Narnia theirs. About how doing so could very easily attract spies. About how you've employed a Calormene traitor to help you build this castle..."

"Just a minute..."

The gatekeeper held up his hand to pause Galian's tirade, "I'd save my speech, if I were you. It's Griffle you need to convince, not me. Good luck to you, Galian."

"Thank you, Tuck,"and, because he knew his etiquette concerning dwarves, he handed this one a small, leather pouch.

The delighted dwarf took a whiff of the sweet odor the pouch produced, "By the Lion, Galian, you grow the best tobacco in southern Narnia. What's your secret?"

"Horse manure,"Galian said with a grin, "Speaking of which, would you see to it that mine is taken care of?" Before the dwarf could spout off a nasty reply, Galian hurried off with the guards that had come to escort him to Griffle's quarters.

Griffle was the leader of a very large group of dwarves, considered more of a guild than a political group by the Narnian government, though lately the Guild had developed a considerable amount of leverage and would by no means tolerate a political figure they didn't like. Griffle himself was the shrewdest leader, man or otherwise, that anyone would ever meet. The members of his clan held a deep respect for him, while everyone outside of their guild thought him to be intolerably stubborn and perhaps a little too nationalistic for his own good. But, despite his faults, he was a very good ally to have, and it was with high hopes that Galian walked the long walk to his quarters now.

This pathway, he knew, led deep into the mountain. It was dark here, the way lighted by only a few lamps, and the walls and floor were rougher, but Galian also knew that the further he walked into the mountains, the more majestic these halls would become. This first level was devoted to mining mostly; it was rumored that the dwarves had struck gold, and though not everyone quite believed this claim, no one was foolish enough to challenge the idea, and those that might have believed this claim were too frightened to invade the caves. Galian was led up a flight of steps, to the second level, which was occupied mostly by smithies. Up another flight of stairs, and the halls here were smoother and better illuminated, and more impressively decorated. The ceiling was high enough for Galian to walk along without bumping his head, a architectural plan Galian himself was quite grateful for. At the far end of the hall was an iron door inlaid with copper. Galian was shown into this and told to sit. The chair was entirely too small, but Galian accepted it. He was given food and drink and told his host would join him presently.

As he waited, he glanced about the room. It was very tastefully decorated, with rich tapestries, a warm fireplace, and the portrait of Griffle himself at the far end of the room. In the portrait, the dwarf was sitting with his back to the green Narnia, a lump of gold in one hand and a hammer in the other. The face of the dwarf himself was hardened and stern, the mouth forever fixated in a solemn frown partially hidden by a long, light brown beard.

"Rather a good likeness, don't you think?"

Galian jerked his head around but managed not to jump. Griffle had entered the room as silently as a panther, an amazing feat considering the dwarf's stocky frame. He wasn't nearly as impressive in person as the portrait liked to convey, but he obviously thought he was, and Galian knew better than to contradict.

"You are Sir Galian, I presume?"

"Yes sir, I am. I am grateful that you should agree to meet with me,"Galian began, standing and bowing to the dwarf. The other made no friendly signs of greeting, only pulled another chair to the table and bade Galian to sit as well.

"I suppose you know why I'm here,"Galian started nervously, "but all the same I'd better ask. You've no doubt heard the rumors of plans to build a castle on the southern border of Archenland?"when the dwarf made no comment, Galian, slightly rattled, continued, "if all goes well for us, that rumor could become a reality. In order for this castle to be satisfactorily constructed, we need the best masons and stone wrights. Naturally, we thought of you and the amazing work you've done with these mountains. It would be an honor and a privilege if you would assist in the construction of this castle."

He stopped to catch his breath, for he had been saying the last bit very quickly. The dwarf said nothing for a minute or two, taking his time, for he knew he was the master of this particular meeting. He stroked his beard for a time, turned to Galian, and said flatly, "No."

"No?"

"Tell me something, young man. Do you or do you not intend for this castle of yours to be a safe haven for Calormenes who wish to run away from their own land?"

"That is not its main objective but it certainly is a possibility."

"So you wish to set up a point where the most destitute of characters may meet and infect our own lands with their questionable practices?"

"Mind you, we're by no means inviting criminals and troublemakers to Archenland. There is another, more important purpose we hope this castle will serve. We would like to decrease crime on the lower border. Do you not see that if the castle is not constructed, innocent Narnians and Archenlanders will continue to be the prey of slavers and kidnapers? I admit, we do hope that the castle will give those in Calormen who suffer under the leadership of those cold, cruel Tarkaans a place to hide and start a new and beneficial life for themselves, and perhaps it will be a place our own citizens who are captives in Calormen will run to. But the main priority of this castle and its guards will be to put a stop to the suffering and fear southern Archenlanders have lived in for so long."

For the first time in that meeting, the dwarf grinned a sly grin, "You certainly are passionate about this, aren't you, my young knight?"

"I lived eleven years of hell as a Calormene slave. You could say it's more my duty to make sure no other Northerner has to suffer like I did."

"That's a very noble mission."

"May I be frank?"Galian asked. When Griffle relented, he added, "The problems you have just outlined have not escaped the attention of those who planned this castle. We are well aware of the dangers. However, we believe the strengths of having a castle on the border will outweigh any problems we might have. Everyone does their part to make sure Archenland and Narnia are safe; this is the role we play."

Griffle stroked his beard harder, so hard that Galian was amazed it hadn't been pulled out. The dwarf's face had changed from fierce resentment to deep pondering. Galian was a wise enough warrior to know when to leave his opponent be, and he explained that he had not expected an answer right away, and that maybe it would be best for Griffle to think on the proposal for a while.

"No, no, sit down,"the other said gruffly when Galian moved to stand, "I still don't quite agree with the functions this castle will serve. However, the thought of so many Narnians and Archenlanders suffering under the brunt of those evil tyrants weighs heavily on my mind. If I allow some of my masons to assist you, will you promise to treat them with respect and not like common workers?"

"Absolutely,"Galian said enthusiastically.

"I'm giving them to you as foreman, understand,"Griffle said forcefully, "they're going to be in charge of the common workers."

"Of course. Their assistance will be much appreciated."

"Then it's settled. You will have access to thirty of my masons."

Galian was overjoyed, and did nothing to hide it, "This is absolutely wonderful! It is definitely a relief off of my mind to know we have the help and knowledge to build this castle. Shall we talk of payment another time?"

"Payment! Ha! Do you really believe we have not all the gold we could ever wish for? Why, Archenland should be asking for money from _me_."

This was the snag that could have brought down the entire meeting, and nervousness crept into Galian once again, "Then what do you desire? It would not be fair for them to work with no pay."

There was a conniving gleam in Griffle's eyes that Galian was sure meant no good, "I'll tell you what I want, young soldier,"Griffle said, "We have gold and weapons and the most splendid halls in all of Narnia. We eat fish from the underground lake in these mountains. But I must say, we grow tired of fish. So, we send someone down to the markets to bring fruits and vegetables and occasionally venison. But it's very expensive and tedious. What I want, Master Galian, is the food from your farm. So long as my dwarves are working for you, you will send us every bushel of every vegetable and fruit that you grow, as well as the tobacco, saving, of course, some for yourself. For it is no lie that we have all become great lovers of your crops, Galian."

Galian frowned, "Do you mean to beggar me?"

"If the Queen of Archenland is such a great friend of yours, I'm sure she won't allow you to starve. And one more thing; that Calormene Captain, I do not want any of my dwarves placed under his command."

"Captain Pericles has always been a friend of Narnia, and he has a deep respect for dwarves."

"Nevertheless, he is a Calormene and a traitor. We want nothing to do with him."

Galian sighed. He had seen this coming, "Captain Pericles will be in command of several guards who will police the area as well as protect the construction sight and the workers at all costs. He will have nothing to do with the building process."

"Whatever he's doing, I do not, on any occasion, want to hear that he is bullying those dwarves in any way."

"You have my word,"Galian said, "I'll see to it personally that everyone is treated fairly."

"If that is the case, my friend, I suppose we only need to decide which dwarves will go."

He invited Galian to stay for the supper, for the meeting had lasted most of the day, but Galian gracoiusly delicned, claiming he had to be back in Archenland soon, which was no lie, for at that very moment Aoife was meeting _again_ with Queen Eleytheria to discuss the possibility of the construction of the castle. It was probably a bold move, gathering supplies and workers before they even knew if they had permission to build. But for some reason, Aoife felt that this time, the Queen would relent. The proposal had been turned down four times in the past two years. Queen Eleytheria, of course, never made an important decision like this without consulting her advisors, and each time they had voted, the proposal was defeated, but always by a small margin.

Galian waited patiently while Griffle organized the thirty dwarves that would go to Archenland to build the castle. Galian promised to send word well in advance of the date they would break ground, and left in the late hours of the afternoon. He was a good deal more cheerful this time, stopping to take in the beauty of his country, his thoughts budding with excitement as the dream of the castle became more real.

He arrived at the Dancing Lawn, but opted to go around instead of taking the path that led to his farm. He really had no time to stop, which saddened him, for his farm had always felt like a paradise where the world would leave him be for the time being and he could concentrate on his crops or his small ranch. He was a bit disconcerted to know that for the next few years, everything he would raise on that farm would go to Griffle. He knew Griffle had been testing him; had Galian not been so passionate, he probably would not have agreed to help at all. Galian would suffer a severe loss of income, not that money mattered so much to him, but he did have workers to pay, workers who needed the money very, very much.

Dancer suddenly halted, stamping her foot nervously. She had sensed something her master had not been able to. Presently, he noticed it too. They were being followed.

He thought first of Griffle; had he hired someone to follow Galian? This man, or woman, or whatever, was not by any means a good woodsman. He disturbed leaves and sticks too often, and had ducked out of the way too late. Griffle's dwarves were mountain dwarves, and by no means woodsmen like some of their kin, but still, Galian rather thought that if it had been one of the mountain dwarves, it would have attacked already, as they were known for their brashness. No, this was someone else, a man, a very leery man.

Galian cautiously continued on his way, but abruptly stopped. This time he was unable to catch anyone. There was a tense five minutes as Galian waited for something, anything to happen.

"Good afternoon, neighbor."

Galian gave a noticeable jump in the saddle, startling Dancer. He looked down to see a very chipper squirrel giving him a curious look.

"Terribly sorry,"it said, quickly, "I didn't mean to disturb you. You don't look so well, sir, if I may say..."

An arrow shot out of the thicket, narrowly missing the squirrel. The frightened animal shot away up a tree before Galian could blink. He rolled off of his horse, drawing his sword at the same time, though he wondered how on earth he could defeat this man if he proved to be a good shot. Galian gave Dancer a good smack, causing her to bolt in the other direction at breakneck speed. He ducked behind a tree as quickly as he could, though he felt the wind off an arrow that narrowly missed his foot. Several more were fired off, hitting the tree Galian had ducked behind. They suddenly stopped, and Galian heard the man running away. Wishing now he hadn't sent Dancer off, he bolted after his attacker. The other man was not very fast, but fast enough to elude Galian. Galian was a good five seconds behind him when he saw the man trip. Two dozen squirrels had come from seemingly out of nowhere, and were now biting and clawing with all their might.

As Galian neared, he called them off, ordering one to stand with teeth bared at the assailant's neck, near the artery. The rest stood by, alert and tense.

"Alright,"Galian started, still blowing hard, "You're going to answer my questions, or else this fellow here ends your life nice and quickly, which is more than you deserve. Who are you?"

The man glared at Galian. He was short, with a short, black beard and long black hair. Had it not been for the sheer blueness of his eyes, Galian would have thought him to be a Calormene. His voice, when he spoke, was that of a man who had seen visions, learned things that made him think he was much wiser than any other man alive.

"My name,"he said, his voice wrought with hate, "is not important. The only thing that matters is that you all will die."

Galian wasn't impressed, some of the squirrels, however, shifted nervously. The other continued, "If you kill me, I will be avenged. If you let me live, I will escape your grasp and tell the others what I know about you. You will not live a fortnight later."

"I believe I asked you a question,"Galian said sternly, as if he hadn't heard the man's speech, "Who are you, and why are you trying to kill us?"

"Not 'us,' Sir Galian. Oh yes, I know who you are. And I know what you are planning to do."

"So do a great many other Narnians and Archenlanders,"Galian snapped, "That, there, on your chest...what does that mean?" on the man's green tunic was a red serpent, with teeth bared and evil eyes. The man rolled his own and laughed, "This is the symbol of my clan. My brothers wear the same tunic. We are a group organized for one purpose; to destroy Narnia."

"That, my friend, is something I can't let you do. I'm taking you to Cair Paravel. You'll find the guards there are more pleasant to chat with than I am."

He turned to one of the squirrels, and was about to ask it if there was anything to bind the man with for the time being. Just as he turned, however, a large foot shot out and slammed into Galian's already tender knee. The squirrel that had been poised at his neck bit into it. A painful scream erupted from the man, and he grabbed the squirrel and flung it away. He jumped to his feet and ran fair for his life, with the other squirrels hot on his trail. Galian stood and limped as quickly as he could, but he was fast losing his prey. The escapee had drawn his knife, and was slashing at squirrels with swift, deadly motions. Still, those squirrels were as wise as they were brave. They stayed to the man's left and right, just far enough out of the range of the knife, and directed him where they wanted him to go, which turned out to be a tall cliff overlooking a thundering waterfall that fell into a deep pool. He turned, to see man and beast closing in on him. Suddenly, he erupted with evil laughter, saying, "Do you think you are any match for me? I have no fear of you...or death." And with that, he jumped over the edge.

Galian limped to the edge. For a moment, nothing could be seen, then, the man appeared in the deep lake. He was yelling something. Soon, several others dressed in similar garb began firing arrows at Galian and the squirrels with unnerving accuracy. They retreated, and when Galian felt they were safe, he turned to one squirrel, the one who had wished him Good Afternoon, who was obviously the leader.

"I owe you my life, my friend,"he said genuinely.

"Think nothing of it, Sir Galian. I've heard rumors of evil men in these parts. I only wished I had not had to encounter them."

"I feel the same. Are the others alright?"

The squirrel hung his head, "I have lost several friends today."

"Oh, my dear friend, I am so sorry,"Galian said, heartbroken, "I would not have wished it for the world. Let it be said they died quite honorably."

"An honorable death is still a death, good sir,"the squirrel said melancholily, "I will miss them."

Galian felt awkward, not knowing how to console the small beast any further. Presently, it spoke, "Who was that man? What clan was he referring to?"

In the back of his mind, Galian had an inkling as to what the man might have been referring to. He prayed with all his might that he was wrong.

"I do not know for sure. But it means no good for Narnians, I can tell you that. Would you, after you have mourned and buried your friends, of course, go as speedily as you may to King Rilian? He will need to know of this."

"I will, sir. And you? Where shall you go?"

"First I'll find my blasted horse. Then I'll go to Anvard."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

No one stirred in Anvard during the wee hours of the night. No one, save for the guards who had been assigned to stand guard that evening, led by Captain Pericles, who, at the moment, was sitting in the Captain's chambers, writing reports concerning all previous watches during that week. There was little to report; the nights had been silent and uneventful. Most men despised working hours such as these, but Pericles preferred standing guard during the night as opposed to keeping watch throughout the day. It was quieter, more peaceful if all was as it should have been. There were fewer duties involved, and no one looked at him with glares of extreme hatred.

All his life, he had wished he lived in Narnia. Now that he did, he wasn't so sure he enjoyed it. Men whispered behind his back, calling him "traitor." His jaw clenched as he remembered they hadn't been so keen to call him that when he brought them news of the attack two years ago.

He heard a sentry call out the time: eleven o'clock. He put down his pen and rubbed his sore eyes, then pulled a holey blanket around his shoulders. It was a terribly cold evening, which usually caused the sentries to hate their night watches even more. He stood, the blanket still wrapped round him, resolving to make a round and see if all was in fact well, when he heard a voice hail the gatekeeper.

He moved quickly, wondering who would be calling at this hour. He had just exited the room into the sheer cold when he heard Galian's voice demand entrance. The gatekeeper looked to his captain, as if asking for confirmation that the voice indeed belonged to Galian. Pericles nodded, and returned to his room, not much wanting to speak to Galian just yet.

They had vowed to be allies, and they were, after a fashion. However, they held an extreme disliking for one another, bordering on hatred, a feeling that would probably never go away, and one that would only intensify when and if Aoife announced which of them she loved the most.

To his disappointment, Galian stopped first at the Captain's room, "How did it go?"Pericles asked, retreating to the safe topic of the castle construction.

"Never mind that for now. How many guards will be patrolling the construction site?"

Pericles then noticed how agitated Galian was, "Twenty-five,"he said, puzzled.

"Double it."

"What-Why?"

Galian recounted the events of the afternoon. Pericles's brow wrinkled as he tried to process the information, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Some squirrels died, however."

"What did this man look like? How many of them would you guess there are?"

"I saw at least fifteen, all wearing the same green tunic. There are probably several more."

"Did you learn anything from him?"

Galian shook his head in a frustrated manner, "He would only say something to the nature of 'Narnia will be destroyed,' or some nonsense like that."

"How strange."

"I know. And that's what scares me. If it were bounty hunters or slavers seeking revenge, they could be stopped. But this is something completely out of the ordinary."

Pericles frowned, thinking of all the other opposition they had already run into, "The last thing we need is more people opposing this castle."

"I know,"Galian said again, taking a small sip of the wine that was kept in a locker in the corner of the room, "How did Aoife fare?"

Pericles shifted uneasily in his chair, "I've had no word from her yet."

"That's...unusual."

"I know. She met with Queen Eleytheria and her advisors late in the afternoon. Surely they would have given her an answer by now."

Galian agreed, then waved his hand about, "Everything alright here?"

"Silent as a graveyard."

The conversation between the two seemed to be over. Galian made some parting comment about finding a place to sleep, when Pericles stopped him, "There's a cot in the other room there. Not very comfortable, but I daresay you've had worse."

"I probably have. Thank you."

Galian felt as though he had only been asleep a few hours when he felt a rough smack on his foot. Immediately, his had went to his sword, which lay nearby, but he realized as it was about halfway there that his assaulter was only Pericles.

"My shift is up,"he said, "we have to go."

Galian nodded, and groggily followed Pericles to the door, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Before they reached it, however, they were stopped by a page, "Sirs, Lady Aoife requests that you join her for breakfast in her room." Both men nodded, and after stopping at a washroom to make themselves look more presentable, walked the long walk to Aoife's apartments.

She greeted both of them with a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. She had changed little over the past two years, save that her right arm now hung almost useless by her side. It was slightly bent at the elbow, so that her palm rested on her hipbone. Otherwise, at this moment, she had never looked happier, the two men decided, which meant that all must have gone well yesterday.

"We have it!"she exclaimed, nearly dancing around the room, "We have the grant! Queen Eleytheria is going to allow us to break ground three miles above the border, the week after the Spring Festival."

"Wonderful,"Pericles exclaimed, "but that leaves us little time to tie down loose ends."

"I know,"said she, "but I have found someone who can help us,"she motioned to a man who had been sitting at the table at the far end of the room, waiting to be introduced. He was a short, stocky man, with a bald head and squinting eyes, complete with a large nose and large ears. He wasn't a very intelligent looking man, Galian noticed, but seemed more like a descendant of the friendly giants.

"This,"Aoife said, interrupting his thoughts, "is Lord Sawyl, he is the Master Architect to Her Majesty. He is going to help us with the planning."

Pericles and Galian both bowed to their new acquaintance, who bowed in return, then moved to shake their hands, "Captain Pericles, it is an honor to meet you. I am one of the few men who remembers your father and the good he did for Archenland and Narnia,"Sawyl said, with a deep, booming voice that was one Pericles and Galian did not expect to hear, "And you, Sir Galian,"he said, shaking Galian's hand as well, "Domus was a friend of mine. I am sure he would be proud of you and what you have become,"he said in an equally kindly voice, making Galian regret all the thoughts he had previously held.

All four sat and feasted on a breakfast of eggs and bacon, all the while listening to Sawyl's account of all the castles he had help to build in the past, and his resume was impressive, ranging from lords' castles to hermits' sanctuaries. He was a very jolly man, and talked longingly of his vacations to the sea, the wistful gleam in his eye making Galian want to laugh and yet gave him images of his home, his own particular spot of paradise.

"And now,"Sawyl said, after they had all finished, "to business. First of all, I'd like to know what roles the three of you will play in this endeavor?"

It was a fair question, and Aoife answered, "Well, my lord, for the most part, I suppose my job will be taking care of the political end of things, and make sure the Queen is happy about our progress. Sir Galian will be my eyes, if you will. He'll help with the construction and report any grievances the workers might have, basically, he'll do his best to keep them happy. Captain Pericles will be in charge of a small group of guards who will see to it that we are all safe."

Pericles and Galian glanced at each other before Pericles said, "A duty that is getting harder and harder by the day."

Sawyl and Aoife looked at them curiously, "What do you mean?"she asked.

Galian recounted the events of the previous day, watching Aoife's eyes grow larger and larger. Lord Sawyl dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head, "My boy, it has been my experience that you shall always run into opposition when you build a stronghold or manor or anything of the sort. They were probably just members of a thieves guild or slavers' guild."

"They've never been this aggressive before,"Galian said doubtfully.

"They've never faced the prospect of losing their livelihood before, have they?"the older man retorted, not unkindly.

"All the same,"Aoife said, "perhaps we should double the number of guards..."

"Whatever makes your ladyship feel better,"Sawyl said lightly, almost condescendingly, "most likely they will leave us alone when they see the stones of our walls raise higher and higher. Speaking of which,"he added this last bit, "what shall we call this castle? It is rather bad luck to have a castle with no name."

Neither Galian nor Pericles had given this a thought, always having referred to their project as "the castle." But now, they realized it would be rather nice should they have a real name for it. But just as they set their mind to working, Aoife blurted, "Diarko Pygros."

"What?"Sawyl asked.

"Diarko Pygros. _The Last Castle_. That shall be it's name,"(A/N: _diarko pygros _is Greek for "last castle,"or it was the last time I looked at a Greek-English dictionary online).

The meeting was adjourned for the day, with Sawyl promising to meet with them the next day to begin drawing the blueprints for Diarko Pygros. Pericles too left, as the lack of sleep had caused him to nod off during lulls in the conversation. This left Aoife and Galian to finish their breakfast alone. When Sawyl and Pericles had left, she turned to him, slightly nervous, "Galian, do you think those men you met might have anything to do with the Sorcerer?"

Two years ago, Aoife had been forewarned of a Sorcerer that had plans to overthrow the governments in Narnia and Archenland. Since then, things had been rather quiet, save for the increase of thieves on the lower border, but this helped their cause more than anything, as Aoife could submit it as another reason to build a castle.

Galian shrugged his shoulders, looking his friend in her fearful eyes, "Truthfully, the things he said made me think he might have been in league with our sorcerer. The sort of thief or slaver Lord Sawyl was talking about would only say 'Your castle will be destroyed.' This man acted as if all Narnia and Archenland would fall."

"I've been thinking,"Aoife said presently, "we should tell Pericles. He needs to know what sort of people he'll be defending us from."

"He might not believe you. He's not the most imaginative person in the world."

"Still, he should know. Lord Sawyl should too."

"Don't tell Lord Sawyl just yet,"Galian said quickly, too quickly, in fact, for he nearly choked on his eggs. When he managed to cough it down, he continued, "I like this fellow, and he seems very trustworthy. But we just met him. If this sorcerer is indeed all-powerful, he might have spies anywhere and everywhere,"he paused for a moment, then said carefully, "There is something I think we can do, to know what we're up against better than we do."

"What?"

"I was thinking,"he said, still speaking slowly, "that I should journey into the Western Wild and do some spying of my own."

"What do you mean?"

"I want to follow that clan. See where they go, what they do, whether or not they're as innocent as Sawyl thinks they are."

"Galian,"she replied, "that is without a doubt the stupidest and most foolhardy idea I've ever heard out of you, and you have to admit, you've had some wild ones in the past."

"Yes, and they have saved your life on more than one occasion."

"Alright. Suit yourself. In fact, stay as long as you like. Just remember that you'll be in the middle of nowhere in the dead of winter trailing a group of men who obviously know who you are and have no qualms about killing you in any fashion that suits them."

He shrugged, "Same tale, different setting."

"Listen to some sense, will you? I know staying here in inactivity will drive you mad, but you can't do something as foolish as this. You are an important part of this castle, and you'll have other duties to see to."

"Aoife, I've already recruited the dwarves. After that, Sawyl probably knows more about who he'll need to build a castle than I do."

"It's not just that. You promised me you'd help. You need to stay close to civilization, especially if there are men hunting for you, ones who are obviously watching your every move. If we lose you, we lose an important key to building this castle. And, I will lose a very dear friend,"she said this last bit very quickly, and turned red.

Galian pouted and grumbled a good bit about it but said, "Alright. I'll stay. For now, anyway."

"Would it make you feel better if I tell you I was about to suggest that we send Ulric to do the very thing you suggested you do?"

He perked up slightly at this. The wolf in question was quick footed and stealthy, and knew the Western Wild better than most others. He had become a very great admirer of Galian's ability to command and fight, and had thus promised to do anything he could for him.

"Yes, that's a much better idea. He's so quiet you can hardly hear him coming. And there's no doubt his allegiance lies with Archenland and with Aslan."

"I thought you'd like it. Besides, if you leave, you'll miss what will quite possibly be the most talked about wedding for years and years."

Galian's stomach dropped when he heard her mention a wedding. It brought fearful images to his mind. He must have looked positively sick for she said immediately, "Not mine, you dolt. No, this wedding would be even bigger than that."

His nerves finally settling, he said dryly, "Aoife, I am oblivious to gossip. Either tell me what you know or I'm leaving."

"Very well,"she said, slightly disconcerted that she would have no sport with him, "her royal highness, Princess Delwyn, is to be married."

"Oh, how wonderful,"Galian said, happy for the young woman who had become a very dear friend to him over the past two years.

"Yes,"Aoife said, with a wicked smile, as she watched him take a sip of wine, "to Lord Faolan."

Her reward was to watch Galian choke and cough for a few moments, then she said smartly, "I knew you'd like that."

"She-she-you're lying!"Galian breathed, still gasping for air.

"I would never,"Aoife said indignantly, "Lord Faolan announced it himself last night, after the meeting was adjourned. Really, we should be thankful, the engagement has obviously put him in a good enough mood that he voted for the construction of Diarko Pygros."

"One bit of information at a time, Aoife,"Galian said, finally breathing normally, "What on earth would possess her to marry an ass like him?"

"Delwyn has always been attracted to power. And if Lord Faolan has anything, he has power."

"Yes, and maybe a bit too much of it for his own good."

"Don't start, Galian."

"I'm sorry, but a fellow who thinks himself mightier than Aslan cannot be out for any good. I've never seen him give Delwyn so much as a friendly glance. Why does he want to marry her now?"

"Perhaps he's finally realized how much he loves her."

"Or perhaps he's finally realized that if Queen Eleytheria dies childless, Delwyn will be Queen, and he'll be able to rule Archenland through her."

"Galian, you've been doing this for two years, and not once has Faolan given you reason to believe he's suspicious. Why, he's been a major supporter of the castle since I first proposed it. You forget, he was nearly captured by those slavers as well. Only they probably would have killed him instead of suffer him to be a slave."

"He'd have been one of the lucky ones,"Galian said dryly.

"That's beside the point right now,"Aoife said impatiently, "the point is, he's been nothing but friendly to us, or friendly to me, anyway."

"You say he's been your friend? What about taking you to see Suruv? Is that something a friend would do?"

"He had no way of knowing I wasn't as close to my adoptive father as I could have been."

" Aoife, everyone knew why you ran away. He was using you. That's what he does, he uses people until he no longer has a use for them. He did that to me, to you, and he'll more than likely use Delwyn too."

Aoife replied bitingly, "Which would make him not unlike any other Tarkaan I've ever known, I've told you that."

"And you accept that? That he's very much like the men you've tried to get away from all your life?"

"I accept the fact that there are good and bad men on both sides. I'm finished arguing with you about this, Galian,"she said, leaving the room, fuming, before he could stop her with another good argument.

Galian took his fury out at the archery range a few miles from Anvard. He never was a good archer, and missing his targets so often only made him angrier instead relieving the stress. Soon, he was so worked up that he was shooting arrows at nothing in particular.

"You're wasting arrows, you damned fool,"he heard a voice behind him say. He turned to see Elisud standing with look that was a mixture of amusement and disgust, "Honestly, you'd better count yourself lucky you're the best sword in the north. You're an awful archer."

"I'm not _awful_,"Galian replied indignantly.

"Out of the twenty you shot, how many even hit the target?"

"Galian looked away sheepishly, "Two."

For the next few minutes, Elisud coached Galian in the finer arts of archery, so that after some instruction Galian's arrows were at least within the vicinity of the target zone. As he shot, Elisud spoke, "Congratulations on your grant. I hear construction begins in the spring."

"No thanks to me. Aoife was the one who handled the diplomatic side."

"Half the advisors gave her the grant just to shut her up,"Elisud chuckled, "I suppose that was her aim."

"I suppose so, yes."

Elisud's smile grew wider, "I hear the two of you had another one of your famous rows again."

Galian turned to him, "Does anyone know why?"

"No. I don't anyway."

"It was about Lord Faolan. You've heard he's marrying Princess Delwyn, I suppose?"

"Heard? I'm part of the royal family, my good man. I was the first to know."

"Of course. I forgot,"Galian said, walking to collect his arrows. Elisud followed, "They'll be married soon, I think. Neither one of them seem like patient people,"his voice was slightly melancholy as he said this, which brought Galian's mind to a previous suspicion he had once held about Elisud and the Princess of Archenland.

"I say, I'm sorry old boy. I know how you felt about her,"Galian said remorsefully.

"What do you mean?"Elisud asked, confused, "Oh, that? No, I loved Delwyn, but she was more of a sister to me than anything else. I never loved her like that."

"I see."

"All the same, I'd rather she'd have found a better man than Faolan."

Galian jumped at the comment, "You don't like him either?"

"I never claimed I did."

"Why don't you like him?"

"I've told you, he's pompous and arrogant and looks at my brother and I as if we were lesser sons of a lesser house. You know, it is rather gratifying to watch him bow and flatter Eoghan, all the while nursing a grudge."

"What sort of grudge?"

"Not many know this, but just before Queen Eleytheria married my brother, Lord Faolan approached King Rordan and asked for her majesty's hand in marriage."

The arrow Galian was preparing to shoot fell to the ground, nearly striking him in the foot. He turned, stunned, to his friend, "What?"

"He asked Eleytheria to marry him. King Rordan pushed very hard for the marriage, mostly because he wanted Eleytheria out of his hair, but she flat out refused, and though he was extraordinarily angry about it, he didn't force her into anything. A month or so later, she announced she was engaged to Eoghan. Several months later, she became Queen. I suppose it drives Faolan crazy to think he could have been a king."

Galian shifted on his feet, extremely uneasy, "And now he's marrying Delwyn. Doesn't the princess think that strange? Doesn't the Queen?"

"Queen Eleytheria is less than pleased. She doesn't have the sort of relationship with her sister that allows her to make judgements like that, however. I suppose I've been elected to talk Delwyn out of it. Though, with the misgivings you have about Faolan, I rather think you should,"Elisud added with a laugh. Galian didn't see this as a laughing matter.

"Don't you think there's something strange about all this?"he asked the chuckling man once again.

"Like what?"

"Well, for instance,"Galian began, approaching Elisud, lest any spies might overhear, "isn't it strange that he once fancied being the husband of a woman who was to become a Queen one day? And now he's engaged to that Queen's sister, who is in fact next in line to inherit the throne if Eleytheria dies childless?"

Elisud had grown serious, "The odds of Eleytheria dying are slim, Galian. She's by no means a military figure, she rarely travels, and when she does, she has a large escort with her. She's the most well protected monarch in the world, I daresay."

"Yes, but the odds of the two princes dying before their time were slim as well, don't you think?"

The death of the late princes of Archenland was always a sensitive topic with Elisud, mainly because of his friendship with one of them, "They both died in what can only be called rare and unfortunate accidents,"Elisud said, slightly coldly, "I cannot see Her Majesty dying of a rare disease or being killed in a bar fight."

"But still, she could die. Poison, or maybe a spy would kill her. And then, Princess Delwyn is next in line, and her husband would be the single most powerful man in Archenland. Elisud, answer truthfully, do you really think Princess Delwyn could run a country?"

The other thought a minute, then answered grudgingly, "No, I don't think she could. Delwyn enjoys the comfort and prestige of being a princess. She doesn't care for the responsibility."

"And who would she turn to for help?"

"Her advisors. Even Queen Eleytheria looks to her advisors."

"No, you fool, she'd look to her husband. She'd look to _Faolan_."

Elisud cocked his head, obviously not seeing it in that sort of light, "Well, if, and that's a strong if, Queen Eleytheria dies, what would be the problem with a king like Faolan? I know,"he said hastily, for Galian's face grew dangerous, "he's not the most pleasant man in the world. I keep telling you, I think he's the worst sort of human being in the world. But, usually the worst sort of human beings make the best sort of politicians." (A/N: And that, my friends, is the logic behind an American politician.)

He added, "Of course, if Eleytheria dies, he will be the first person I will suspect. The spouse of a political figure usually is. But in the course of such an event, I don't think Faolan is the sort of man who would stoop to that level."

"Then why is he marrying Delwyn? I've never seen him give her so much as a friendly look."

"Well, for the power. I know you may not understand, but Faolan is not the only nobleman who would marry a princess for the power of being connected to the royal family, rather than for love. That doesn't necessarily mean he wants to be King. To tell you the truth, most noblemen would hate to be a King. They're content to tell a King how to run his country, then retreat to their nice, safe homes and drink some ale and talk about how poorly the King is running a country. It happens everywhere."

Galian fired off a few more arrows, despite jests from Elisud saying that Galian was the only archer he had ever known that got worse with practice instead of better.

Galian finally faced him again, "Does Delwyn really love Faolan?"

Elisud sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, "Galian..."

"I won't ask you anything more about it again."

Elisud looked skeptical, "Or for an hour, at least,"Galian said meekly.

"Fine. Delwyn is rather enchanted with him, yes. Mind you, Delwyn falls in love with someone every week."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. She's very much an admirer of the men, to put it mildly. She was in love with you for the longest,"he added, a smirk on his face.

Galian's own grew red, "You're lying."

"Am not. She was positively head over heels in love with you, especially during the first few months that you stayed here. I suppose there was an element of danger about you that fascinated her. I tell you, old chap, I'm rather relieved she's marrying Faolan than you. You'd likely kill her during archery practice."

Galian responded with a smack on Elisud's backside with the flat of his sword.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

Without a doubt, Galian hated, absolutely _hated_ formal parties.

Not that the ballroom wasn't absolutely beautiful. The white marble hall glittered with candles and a large, glass chandelier. Ivy wound it's way up the pillars, creating a mythological scene. Small, abandoned tables clothed in white surrounded the dance floor, where most of everyone was now, twirling around to the gentle music. Conversation buzzed about, and, at the High Table, people were passing by to congratulate Lord Faolan and Princess Delwyn on their engagement. They had decided to throw an engagement party a month after it was announced, and were now fielding the adulation and sickening compliments that were being given them now.

Galian leaned against the wall, sighing heavily. To think he could have been the one who was preparing for a long expedition instead of Ulric was maddening to him. Instead, he was here, watching as people masqueraded around, putting on shows of false kindness towards one another. On more than one occasion, one unsuspecting person tried to strike up a conversation with Galian. However, his or her efforts proved fruitless, as Galian was by no means a conversationalist, and the conversations often grew awkward until one of them made an excuse to leave.

Aoife made her way over to him. His stomach did a familiar and yet still frightening drop as he noticed how beautiful she looked in a gown of soft pink. He immediately turned red and stuttered a hello.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"she asked.

"No,"he sighed, causing her to laugh shyly. The way he was looking at her gave her chills, but the good sort of chills, the kind that made her blush as much as he.

"I can tell,"she said, "you look like you're being tortured."

"I _feel_ like I'm being tortured. Why did I have to come?"he whined, sounding remarkably like a child.

"Because, my dear, we're are building a controversial castle with more than half the country against us. The last thing we need to do is give people reason to talk ill of us, which, I must say, you're not helping the matter at all."

"I'm sorry,"he said gloomily.

"No,"she said lowly, "I'm sorry. About the argument, I mean."

"Me too,"he said, "I suppose I have been making rather a fuss over nothing."

"I don't blame you, really,"she told him, "growing up like you did, I wouldn't trust anyone either."

As she spoke, Ulric appeared at the door at the opposite end of the hall.

"Save a dance for me?"Galian asked, not really waiting to hear an answer. He quickly pushed his way to the patient wolf, who greeted him with a friendly nip at the hand. The two talked small talk until they stepped outside into the courtyard. The crisp air bit at Galian, who had neglected to bring a cloak, but Ulric paid it no mind.

"I wanted to say good bye before I left,"he said, in a very serious voice.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Ulric,"Galian said gratefully, his breath steaming as he spoke.

"Don't mention it, don't mention it at all. I do have to ask, are you sure this is necessary?"

These days, Galian felt he wasn't sure about anything anymore. Nevertheless, he answered, "These men are dangerous, I know they are. Even if they aren't out to start a rebellion in Narnia and Archenland, nothing good can come of their activities. I don't expect you to stop them all by yourself. Just gather as much information about them as you can, and come back when you think you've had enough."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you think you'll be alright? I mean, wandering around the Western Wild, in the dead of winter, not sure of what food you'll be able to find?"he asked, concerned for the volunteer's well being.

"My lord,"Ulric said, in a patronizing voice, "I have lived in the wild all my life. I have faced every element of weather imaginable, have good without food for longer amounts of time than I care to remember. A few months in the Western Wild will be nothing compared to that."

"Of course,"Galian said, feeling rather foolish, "well, then, if there's nothing else I can do for you, then good luck. Go with the Lion's speed, my friend."

The other bowed, then dashed across the courtyard before Galian realized he had left. He watched after him, then reluctantly turned to go back in. Before he could reach the hall, however, a young page stopped him, "My lord, an audience with you is being requested in Her Majesty's meeting room. Will you follow me?"

Galian did, wondering what had happened now. He followed the boy, who couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve, up a dimly lit staircase and through an equally dim hallway, the path he knew that led to the room Queen Eleytheria and her advisors used for their meetings. Guards stood on either side of the door, but allowed Galian to enter. The page remained outside.

The room was surrounded by shelves and desks that were littered with papers and books. In the center of the room was a long table of oak with six chairs surrounding it. At the far end sat Queen Eleytheria, with Lord Chancellor Eoghan on her right and Elisud on her left.

"Sir Galian,"the Queen began, "I'm afraid I have some dreadful news. The dwarves you recruited to help with the construction were attacked a few hours ago. Let me first assure you they are alive and well. I would say they are the most capable people I know of defending their own keep."

Galian was momentarily astonished, but soon recovered, "Who attacked them?"

"One of the men they captured claimed to be part of a subversive organization known as the Serpens Russus. Have you heard of them?"

When Galian denied, she continued, "They're an ancient sect of men and evil creatures that flourished under the White Witch's rule. They were banished by High King Peter during the Golden Age of Narnia. They tried time and time again to invade, but King Peter always fought them back. They disappeared for good, or so everyone thought. But now it seems they have returned, with a new agenda. They plan to assassinate the leaders of Archenland and Narnia."

Galian was stunned, "But why now, of all times?"

"My guess is they've only recently received the leadership they've needed. They spoke of a man, a sorcerer, as their leader."

Galian's heart jumped again, "A-a sorcerer?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And...do you believe them?"

"It is rather unbelievable, I know. But I've heard allegations before. It seems now they have been confirmed."

Galian tried to slow his breathing. By the Lion. So the Sorcerer was real. Beyond a doubt, he was real.

"And what will Your Highness do to stop him?"

"As of now, I don't know. I will discuss it with my advisors. In the meantime, there is something I need you to do for me."

"Anything, your majesty."

"Like I said, with news of this threat, we know the lives of several important noblemen are in danger. I would like you to be the bodyguard for one of them."

Galian's face flushed, "Your majesty, with all due respect, I don't work very well as a bodyguard."

"You were Aoife's bodyguard while the two of you traveled across the desert, weren't you?"

"Well, yes, but that was different."

"It seems relatively the same sort of thing to me. You are considered to be one of the most dangerous men in the north. The mere mention of your name will likely drive these scoundrels away."

"It will attract them, more likely. They've been following me about, lately."

"Lord Elisud mentioned that. If that is the case, we _could_ use you as bait. We are putting one of the most important political figures in your charge, and that will be a tempting target for even the most wary assassin."

"You want me to protect you?"

"Not exactly. Lord Eoghan will see to that,"she said, glancing at her husband.

"Princess Delwyn then?"

"No. Lord Elisud will protect her."

"Who, then?"

"I would like you to protect Lord Faolan."

"_You what_?"Galian blurted, then momentarily caught himself, "I'm sorry, your Majesty, but you..._what_?"

"Is that a problem?"she asked, slightly confused.

"Well...surely Lord Faolan would want someone else?"

"Oh no, he personally requested you. Why wouldn't he?"

"I-I-I don't know,"Galian stuttered, staring at Elisud, who laughing into his hands. Galian resolved to beat that smile off his face the minute they were alone.

"But, your Majesty, I shan't be a good bodyguard, really. I'll have to leave in the spring so that I may assist in the construction process. And I will more than likely devote my time until then securing workers and supplies and the like."

"Lord Faolan does not wish to hinder the planning process, nor your duties as a project leader. That is why he has agreed to help your team with your planning."

What color there may have been left in Galian's face was soon gone. All suspicions aside, Faolan was not the most pleasant man to work with, and besides, what did he know about building a castle?

He put this last thought into words. The Queen replied, "He feels the first stages of this project are much like the first stages of any other venture. I would say he knows as much as you, at any rate,"she said. Knowing she was winning the debate, she added, "Besides, we hope that this group of men will be brought to justice within the next few months. I don't believe the terrorizing of our country will last very long. When spring comes, this whole mess will be over, and you will be relieved of your protection duties and will be allowed to freely oversee the building process."

"And if it is not over by then?"

"We'll leave that decision to Lord Faolan. If he feels unsafe, he may ask you to stay on. I will leave that to the two of you to work out."

She rose and made towards the door, Lord Eoghan and a still smirking Elisud following her, "You do know,"she added as she reached the door, "that you will be paid for your duties. You'll be paid very well, too. Lord Faolan is a very rich man and will pay good money for the best swordsman in the North,"with a grin, she left the room with her husband. Elisud remained, "Though what he'll want with a pitiful archer, I can't guess..."

"You jackass,"Galian growled, "Why didn't you tell me? Did you know about this?"

"Yes, I found out about two days ago. It was mentioned in the cabinet meeting, that certain members of the advisement council would need to be protected. The Queen, first and foremost, though why Eoghan is protecting her is beyond me. It must be that husbandly urge to protect the wife, I don't know. However, if both of them are killed, we'll be without two very important rulers."

"They don't consider you valuable enough to need protection?"

Elisud gave a half laugh, holding the door open for Galian so the two men could walk back to the ball, "I suppose they assume that the Lord High Marshal shouldn't need protection. It was offered to me, but I refused. I volunteered to watch over Delwyn, instead."

"But, that means that if you die, we'll be without a military leader."

"A military leader is easier to replace than a Queen or a Lord Chancellor."

"Or a Lord Inquisitor?"

"Faolan is the secret keeper of Archenland, my friend. He might be more valuable than the Queen."

"Which puts me in rather a delicate situation. How am I to focus on this castle if I'm constantly worried about murderers or kidnappers abducting my charge?"

"I suppose that's why Lord Faolan has agreed to become an advisor as well as his other duties. I suppose, really, he's replacing you."

Galian didn't like the sound of that. His troubled face was lit up by the bright glow of the ballroom. Everyone was eating now, though the band still played light, airy music. Elisud strode eagerly forward, then looked about, confused, when he noticed Galian wasn't following him.

"Come on, old boy, I'm starving!"

Galian shook his head, "I don't have much of an appetite. Excuse me."

He stepped outside, feeling the cool rush of air ruffle his hair, and could breathe once more. He glanced up at the sky. In the northern section sat the Ship, his favorite constellation. As a boy, he would sit out at night, and pretend the Ship was taking him to far away lands and great adventures.

His eyes returned to Archenland. If there was ever a man who had adventures, he was that man. Really, there were too many adventures taking place all at once. His thoughts moved on. The Serpens Russus. A resistance group, whose aim was to kill the Archenlandian royalty. For the thousandth time, he wished he was ventured to the west instead of Ulric. With every answer he received, more questions came up. It was a good guess that the Sorcerer was now in league with the Serpens Russus as well as the Calormenes. Who else was serving him? What was his next move? What could they do to stop someone with such extensive connections and Aslan-knew-what sort of powers?

"Galian..."

He turned to see Lord Faolan standing there, watching him. A little stiffly, Galian said, "My lord, you're missing your feast...

"Never mind that now. I suppose Her Majesty has told you..."

"She has. I suppose I'm to be your shadow for the next few months."

"I must say, Sir Galian, I shall feel greatly at ease to know the best swordsman in the North will be nearby. The attack on your friends shook me badly."

"And I, also,"Galian said thoughtfully, watching Faolan closely. What did Faolan care about an attack on a group of dwarves perfectly capable of taking care of themselves?

"I hope"he was saying, "that you do not believe I am trying to take over your role as a project coordinator. I believe I will be able to push the planning in a positive step forward."

"I'm sure you will, my lord,"Galian said, a little sourly. Faolan didn't seem to notice.

"Galian, in three days' time, I will expect you at my home in Stormness Head. Come, but I suggest you pack rather light. I do a lot of traveling from there to Anvard. Your room will be prepared for you, and then I expect you to be at my side constantly. I will pay you for your troubles, but I expect to get what I pay for. This is a serious occasion, Sir Galian, and I expect you to take it seriously."

Galian wondered indignantly what sort of soldier Faolan thought he was, "My lord, I take all my duties seriously. I will not let you down."

Faolan nodded, then swept back into the ballroom. Galian sighed again. It was going to be a very long winter.


	4. Chapter 4

Come on, guys, throw me a bone...thanks to those who actually did review...

Disclaimer: Narnia isn't mine.

Chapter 4.

Faolan's massive mansion was located in the heart of Stormness Head. To get there, one had to climb a steep, nearly vertical pathway uneven with sharp rocks, then, once level on the plateau, would be forced to navigate through the labyrinth of canyons and crevices. It reminded Galian much of the canyons he had picked his way through when he and Aoife had run away, how long ago it seemed. Fog descended on him as he rode along, and a chilling breeze blew into his face, biting at his nose, chin, cheeks and ears. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, all the while mentally approving of the location of the manor of such an important man. Very few would be able to navigate pathways such as these; there were even some native Archenlanders who would not have dared it. Unless someone had very good directions, he or she would never be able to find the manor. It was always cold up here, he had been told, amass with foul weather all year long. The pathways, once frozen with ice, would be nearly impossible to climb. The odds of an army attacking Lord Faolan's palace were slim.

Still, Lord Faolan was afraid for his life. He had sent a message to Galian's home in the Dancing Lawn begging him to come as soon as he could. When Galian reached Anvard, people told him how agitated Faolan had been, how easily he could be frightened. He was constantly on edge, always looking over his shoulder. He absolutely refused to eat unless he watched the cook prepare it right before him. He had been walking about with his hand tightly gripping a dagger, though it was a long standing joke among the soldiers that he wouldn't know what to do with it in the event he was attacked.

As Dancer finally reached the top of a small hill, the poor beast huffing and blowing as she walked, the sight of Faolan's castle came into sight. It was made of a darker brown than the mountains, a curious color, Galian thought, and it was massive. It seemed a good deal larger than Anvard, though maybe not quite as big as Tashbaan. Tall towers rose out of the outer walls, and from where he sat Galian could just see the outlines of soldiers on the towers and the walls. There was a moat surrounding the castle, about seventy five feet deep, Galian would later learn, and as he approached all sorts of fairy tales he had once heard, ones where crocodiles or some other horrendous beast lurked in the dark waters, came into his head. Slightly nervous, he looked up to hail the gatekeeper, but to his surprise the drawbridge began to creak and lower just as he was about to raise his voice. He waited patiently until it finally reached the ground, and crossed over while trying not to give too much thought to crocodiles. A small detachment of soldiers was there to meet him, led by a very clean, neat looking man Galian had once met two years ago when Archenland defended itself from Calormene onslaught. The man bowed and bade Galian to follow, the small squad mimicking the movements of their captain. They rode through the streets with haste, and peasants backed out of the way quickly to avoid being trampled. Most of them, Galian saw, had either bales of hay, bushels of sticks, or else baskets full of food in their arms. They were not unhappy looking people, but rather fearful instead. Galian wondered what their leader had told them to make them so afraid.

The manor itself was a sight to behold. Banners of red with the black face of a lion blew wildly in the wind. Tapestries of the same design hung before the main entrance. There was an attempted at a lawn before the main door, but, again, the soil was too rock to support much vegetation. The captain and Galian dismounted, leaving the other soldiers outside. As they walked through the main door, Galian was hit with a rush of warm air, and soon felt invisible ice that had gathered around his aforementioned frozen parts begin to melt. The floors were of a black marble and the walls were white of a similar material. Apparently, Faolan was one given to the arts, as paintings, sculptures, and rare artifacts were spotted here and there. Large doors of dark oak were found here and there along the walls, placed in no particular order, it seemed. The tour guide never stopped at any of these sights, however, but carried on swiftly as though such beauty no longer awed him. Two pairs of footsteps echoed around them, giving Galian the feeling that the manor was much bigger than it appeared. They walked up a twirling flight of stairs, arrived at the third floor which was very similar to the first, and Galian was shown into a library and told to wait patiently until Lord Faolan could join him.

Even the library was impressive to a man of little education like Galian. Books were arranged by color, blue ones in this section, browns in another. There were a few books and papers on one of the several small table in the room, but even this mess seemed to be orderly and intentionally placed. The large door creaked open, and Faolan entered, followed by an older, submissive-looking man. Faolan himself looked as if something hurried him, as if there was something important that needed to be attended to without delay. His voice, when he spoke, was slightly high pitched, no mean feat for a man with a voice as soft and dulled as his was.

"I am grateful to you for arriving early,"he said, shaking Galian's hand after the latter had bowed, "I know it must be a great inconvenience, but I truly felt as if something terrible was about to happen to me if you did not arrive immediately. It's probably just a silly feeling, I know..."

"Feelings like that cannot be ignored, my lord,"Galian told him, "I've found it rather beneficial to heed them in the past."

"Then I hope I have done the right thing. I'm not a military man, good knight, nor am I an expert woodsman. I have grown up in finery like this all my life. I carry a dagger, but I fear I am a novice at swordplay. I haven't the talents you have, Sir Galian, I am unable to observe others as you are."

Galian wasn't sure whether or not he was supposed to feel like a warrior or a rustic, after hearing this speech. Giving himself the benefit of the doubt, he answered, "I am only a very alert man, my lord. I shall do my best to see that no suspicious character run amuck in your land, sir."

They sat at one of the small tables, Faolan's assistant doing so as silently as possible, in fact, Galian had come to wonder if the man was capable of making any noise at all.. After shooting him a curious look, Galian continued, "My lord, I must be honest with you. I battle, it is clear who the enemy is. In a situation such as this, the villain is not conspicuous. He may be a soldier, a nobleman, or a peasant. He may not even be a man at all. It could be a woman, or a dwarf, or a talking beast. I shall do my very best to protect you, my lord, but I advise you to pay attention to any doubts or fears you may have. As I said, doing so could very well save your life. I must say, however, that although the issues I have just outlined are important, I do feel that you have chosen the safest location for yourself."

"Yes, I think so as well. The canyons are difficult to navigate. I have more soldiers guarding my perimeter than the Queen herself. I am the most well protected man in Archenland. Still, I am afraid."

"Enemies will stick out here, sir. I feel confident that you shall be safe. I am worried, however, that my being here will only attract the assassins. They have been following me for quite a while, perhaps longer than I am aware."

"Queen Eleytheria told me of your suspicions. That is part of the reason she wanted you here. She feels she is protecting you as much as you are protecting me."

Galian was taken aback, "I? Why should I need protection, my lord?"

"It is simple. Though no one expects an attack on Princess Delwyn, and much less do we expect the untimely death of Lord Elisud, but in the event such a terrible situation would occur, you are the frontrunner for succession as military advisor."

Galian flushed, "My lord, I know nothing of advising or ruling a country."

"No, but you know a great deal about commanding an army."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?"

"We wished to keep it secret. Should the wrong person hear of this, our enemies would have a greater reason to kill you than before."

Galian shifted uneasily in his chair, his head spinning. He? Military advisor? He could not imagine himself in such a position. Even if he could have had the position without losing his friend, he wasn't too sure he would have wanted it. He was great deal more ill at ease than people knew, especially during battle. He wasn't always so confident, and he oftentimes second guessed himself when making an important decision. During battle, he relied on instinct and prayer to keep him alive. How could he teach that to an army?

Faolan interrupted his thoughts, offering to give him a tour of the castle. It was a perfect maze, and Galian knew that no matter how long he would be there, he would never know his way about. His own room was simple by Faolan's standards, but very lavish to Galian, and he found himself wondering if maybe the bed wasn't _too_ comfortable.

They had dinner in a private banquet room adjacent to Faolan's office. Several individuals joined him here, people Galian knew by reputation but had never met. Most of them were wealthy, well-to-do noblemen, ones that talked more of trade and commerce and complicated political agendas than anything else. They were men similar to Faolan, who was a self-proclaimed aristocrat who worked more with his mouth than his hands. Faolan introduced Galian, and he was greeted with stiff greetings and patronizing smiles. They talked around him the entire meal, not once addressing him. Faolan did not seem to notice, but joined in their talk of international trade with great zeal. Galian was throughly bored before the main course was even served, and the entire time he wondered why on earth he was there, of all places he could be. His mind drifted off to ice-covered trees and snowy forest floors, to the Western Wild, where Ulric was bounding about doing his part to put a stop to evil cults and bloodthirsty assassins. He thought of Aoife and Pericles, alone, taking exact measurements for Diarko Pygors, and he suddenly felt angry and jealous. He thought of his farm, where every precaution was being taken to ensure the ground would be protected from the harsh winter, and the animals were safe and warm in the stables, and he felt a sudden stab of homesickness.

With these thoughts to occupy him, time passed slowly. Soon, his plate was being taken away, several men were lighting pipes or sipping wine. No one seemed to be talking. Galian soon found the reason for the lull in the conversation. A poet came forth, preparing himself to tell the gathering any particular tale they wished. Stories of King Cor, Prince Corin, the four ancient sovereigns of Narnia and other popular ones were told. As was the custom, the host's story was told last. Faolan pondered a moment, then said, in his quiet, slurred voice that seemed to indicate he was entirely back to normal, "Tell me the story of Aneirin."

Every head turned and looked at Faolan curiously. Even the poet seemed to stutter as he replied, "I-I do not know that story well, my lord."

"Very well. I shall tell it. You may go,"Faolan dismissed the poet and stood from his seat, and stood in front of the group of men.

"Most of you do not know the story of Aneirin. It is not a story often spoken of. People fear the idea of the story as much as they feared Aneirin back then. Aneirin lived during the reign of the White Witch. His mother was a naiad and his father was a marshwiggle, a very odd combination indeed. In his earlier years, Aneirin was a coward of a man. Despite all that he had learned from his parents about Aslan, Aneirin willing gave himself into the service of the White Witch. His job was to alert her of any traitors in her kingdom, and at that time, there was very little anyone could do that would not appear to be the work of a traitor, and Aneirin handed over many a life to the Witch.

Unfortunately for Aneirin, the High King Peter and his royal brother and sisters liberated Narnia from the reign of the Witch, a story I'm sure we all know. Aneirin, who had for years openly sworn allegiance to the Witch, and who had made several enemies of the families and friends of those he had sent to the Witch and, ultimately, to their death, was forced to flee north.

It was thirty years before anyone saw him again. By that time, the Royal Four had disappeared, and Narnia was in a state of slight dysfunction. Most of those who might have been able to recognize Aneirin were dead, but even if they had been alive, they wouldn't have known this monster as the same vile, cowardly young man they had once known. His skin was white, not pale, but white as snow, as the Witch's had been. The whites of his eyes were no longer white, but red. He was seen at odd times during the next few years, here and there, never staying in one place, never speaking to anyone. He eventually erected a home on the very edge of the Western Wild, just close enough to Chippingford to wander into town on market days to buy food, but far away enough that no one knew exactly where his house was...or what he was up to.

Eventually, one man found out. He was Areli, a carpenter by profession. Areli had been watching Aneirin for some time, had watched cautiously as the man skulked about the streets of Chippingford, intimidating shopkeepers and buying up nearly every potion in the apothecary. Areli was curious as to what Aneirin was up to, and one day, followed the strange man to his home. They say he waited until Aneirin left his home to fetch some water, then stole into the house from the window. It was a small, one roomed home, with a bed in one corner and a cauldron in another. On the only table were books, some labeled and some not, and scraps of paper with words written hastily on them. Areli picked up one of the journals, and flipped to the latest entry:

_On the third day of Greenroof, at the seventh hour: It has failed, again. My quest for long life as my mistress once had has gone astray. I try not to think of how angry she would be were she here. Sometimes it is if I can hear her voice, in the distance. She is angry, she is always angry. Come to think of it, there is not a memory I possess in which she was _not_ angry. _

_What have I forgotten! The potion I have created is much like that of Queen Lucy's; it will heal any wound I may have. Only, I had thought that Queen Lucy's patients were not so...scaly. It is a side effect, I suppose. I have replicated the contents of her cordial to the best of my ability, using ingredients no decent man ought to use. But, after all, I am no decent man. I want more! I want more than a potion that can heal any sickness and any injury. I want a potion that will save me from injury, make it so that I shall never sustain so much as a bruise. I want a potion that will give me immortality. I shall never stop, not until I have taken the first sip and felt the blissfulness of immortality. _

_And yet, I want to stop so badly. Each malfunctioned potion makes me sicker and sicker. Physically, I am fine. But her voice is louder with each vial I drink. And not only her voice, but that of my father, of my mother, of those whom I helped Her Majesty to destroy. I see them, on my bed, on my doorstep, and they elude me as I try to kill them once again. The voices...I hear them all the time now. The voices...how to make them stop!_

That concluded the entry, save for two words written at the very bottom, in more of a frenzy than the entire paragraph above: _The Garden!_

And then, Areli heard something clatter to the floor. He looked to the doorway, and there was Aneirin, the pail of water rolling on the floor, water streaming everywhere. Aneirin himself was gritting his teeth and breathing heavily, with his fists clenched, acting remarkably as a hot-tempered person would react to someone who had just made a horrible comment about someone they loved. With a horrendous cry, he drew a knife from his belt and flew at Areli. The other had ducked just in time, and his attacker flew into his own desk, scattering papers and books and eventually crashing into the wall on the other side of the desk. Faster than thought, he jumped to his feet, standing on the desk, looking down on his prey with a murderous gleam in his eye. With an ear splitting cry, he leapt at Areli again, and again the agile man dodged the attack. Instead, Aneirin landed on his own knife.

He attempted a crawl to a chest, located under his bed. Areli beat him to it. He stood in front of the prostate figure, barring his way. Pathetically, the dying man looked at the stranger and croaked, 'Please, I need it to live.'

'It shall only make you more insane,'Areli told him.

'You will let a man die?'

'In exchange for a hundred more lives? Yes.'

Aneirin struggled and cursed, but he was no match for the stronger, healthier man. The last words he said were, 'Damn you...others will...will find my potions. They...they will...damn you...and yours,' he coughed a bit more, then choked, 'A curse upon your house...' And with those words, he died."

The noblemen looked at each other, all on the edge of the seats despite themselves. An old man at the end said, "Why, my lord and host, that is not a horrifying story at all. What happened to all the potions and such?"

Faolan continued calmly, "Areli burnt that house to the ground, and everything in it."

Later that night, when all the nobles were safely tucked away, Galian escorted Faolan to his chambers.

"That was a very interesting story you told, my lord,"Galian said.

"I was surprised at your reaction, Sir Galian,"Faolan said in a curious voice, "you did not seem as enthralled as the others. Most who hear that story for the first time are awestruck."

"My lord, that was not the first time I have heard the story."

Faolan halted for a moment, regarding Galian thoughtfully. Presently, he said, "Then perhaps you know that I left out one very important detail?"

"That Areli took several papers with him? Papers that are said to have ingredients of the potions Aneirin made, as well as directions to the garden from which the seed of the Tree of Protection was taken?"

Faolan nodded, impressed, "Where did you hear that story?"

"From Domus, my lord. He told it to me several times, more to put me on my guard than anything."

"On your guard against what?"

"He never said. He often told me I would have many enemies in this world, and all of them would wear a different face."

"Wise faun, he was."

"Yes, indeed, sir."

They arrived at Faolan's chambers, and Galian bade his employer good night. As he walked away, Faolan called after him, "You know, I underestimated you, young Galian. I'll be sure not to do it again in the future,"and without another word, he closed his door, leaving a perplexed Galian in the hall, staring after him.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for the bones, everyone. I like to have some feedback every now and then, good or bad. Keep the reviews coming!

I hope you guys stick with me after this chapter. There's a lot of content in it and there's not much action going on at the time. This story is more of a mystery than my others, so there's a lot of problem solving to take care of. Just stay with me, I'm sure (or I hope anyway) that you'll enjoy it in the end.

Disclaimer: Do I really have to?

Chapter 5.

Galian was, of course, too young to know what it might have been like to live under the reign of the White Witch, but he imagined that living in Stormness Head very closely resembled that time of perpetual winter. Each morning he awoke to a morning colder than he had ever known, and, after breaking the bucket of ice that was brought to him each day to wash his face, would put on several layers of thick clothes before joining the others for breakfast. The first morning he came down in a wool cloak covering several layers of thick clothing, everyone laughed, and it was a longstanding joke within the castle that a new bodyguard would soon be needed, as this one would freeze to death. Galian received these jokes with a very ill temper. He didn't like cold weather very much, and this dislike combined with the ever increasing cold he had developed made him that much more impatient with soldiers or anyone else who had the misfortune to catch him in this mood.

Really, he had very good reason to be upset. Keeping watch over the Lord High Inquisitor of Archenland was nothing to be taken lightly. It seemed that suspicious people were constantly coming to and fro, and yet anytime Galian made a move to stop these men, Lord Faolan would only laugh and tell him these men or women were alright. Galian's nerves were quite shot at this point; he was beginning to realize it was damn near impossible to keep any strangers away, increasing the odds that the Archenland lord would end up dead, and Galian's reputation along with him.

Every few days, Aoife would send him a letter, keeping him updated with the progress she was making. She had been less than happy when she had learned Galian would be called away until spring, but she accepted his duties easier than he did. They were still in the process of acquiring workers, and had only just decided which quarry the stone would be cut from, this after much debate from Lord Sawyl and Pericles (though what Pericles knew about architecture, Galian wasn't sure) with Lord Sawyl emerging as the winner. In her last letter, Aoife had nervously written (or that was the impression Galian got when he read it) that the cost of building their castle would be greater than they had originally anticipated, and hinted that she hoped Galian had no prior commitments for the next several years.

As he read, Galian grew more and more restless and more and more resentful of his duty. He felt so helpless, as if so many things were happening without his consent or knowledge. It irritated him to know that Aoife was alone with Pericles so many days, that Ulric was out stalking enemies in the Western Wild, that everyone else was having a grand old time, and he was stuck keeping an eye on a long-winded, bombastic, high-born nobleman. Not to say that Faolan wasn't very interesting in his own way. Galian was rather fascinated with the way the man could talk anyone into doing anything, how charismatic he was. He was an important man who knew he was an important man, and did not waste his time with fools and dreamers. He was very practical, expected things to be done and done right, and pity on the man (or beast) who did not do it right the first time. And yet, there was an artistic side of Faolan people rarely saw, a side that was obsessed with stories from the ancient days, particularly ones concerning traitors and heros that lived during the time of the White Witch. He lived for storytelling, and could often be found sitting in his room, listening eagerly to stories he had probably heard a thousand times before. This was the same sort of man who found Galian intriguing as well, making Galian feel remarkably like an exotic animal on display. Time and time again he asked Galian about his adventures as a slave, begged for details regarding his escape. Galian wasn't as eager to tell the stories as Faolan was to hear them; he had considered himself extremely lucky to have survived those adventures at all, and more than once he mentioned he had almost been overcome by the odds. Faolan, however, never seemed to hear Galian's explanations, only listened with excitement and then proclaimed at the end of every story that Galian truly was the greatest fighter in the world.

One day, while Faolan was meeting with another very important accessory of his, Galian took the opportunity to walk around a bit. His travels led him outside, to the wall where several sentries stood. For once, it wasn't snowing, instead, a thick fog had descended on the castle mixed with a cold, cold rain. Wrapping his cloak tighter around him, he walked along the wall, nodding to a footman, who saluted smartly and said, "Good Morning, sir."

"Morning,"Galian replied, slightly grumbling.

"Still have that cold, sir?"without waiting for Galian to answer, he replied, "I remember the first winter I spent here. Worst year of my life. Somehow, though, it seems a lot easier each year."

"How long have you been here?"Galian asked.

"Four years, my lord."

Galian nodded towards the fog, "How can you tell if anything is coming when it's like this?"

"We listen, sir. Noises echo throughout the canyons. Some of the best soldiers can even tell who it might be from the sound. For example, when you came, my captain over there knew it was you from the quality of your horse. If we hear people walking, it's more than likely a rustic."

"What if it's a thief? Or perhaps an invading army?"

"Sir, with all due respect, do you honestly think an army could attack us here? You can't sneak an army in that quietly, they would echo for miles. Thieves, well, they are harder to track, but that's why his lordship demands that a certain number of sentries are on guard at all times."

Galian nodded, approvingly, "Lord Faolan spared no expense to protect his castle."

"Well, sir, he's rather a timid man, especially after what happened to his parents. Though I'm sure you've heard the story."

"I haven't actually,"Galian replied, leaning against the battlement. The young soldier straightened up eagerly, as though proud that he knew something his commander didn't, "I suppose you wouldn't sir, as you were away when it happened. About seven years ago, bandits invaded the home of Lord Faolan's parents. At that time, they lived just west of Anvard. They killed his father and kidnaped his mother, and sent a letter demanding a ransom. Faolan refused to pay, thinking that the entire thing was a bluff, and sent soldiers to retrieve his mother. Unfortunately, those bandits weren't bluffing, and as soon as they saw the soldiers coming, they cut the head off of Faolan's mother. I suppose the chap-I mean, his lordship-hasn't really rid himself of the guilt. At the same time, he's convinced the same will happen to him."

Galian peered through the fog, in deep thought. That actually _did _explain a lot. Why he was so isolated, so private, why he had the largest militia in Archenland. Suddenly, a bell cut through the silence of fog, signifying eleven o'clock. Lord Faolan was probably finished with his meeting. Galian apologized to the soldier for keeping him, then walking quickly back to the meeting room. Faolan was just showing a rather rancorous-looking man out. As he spotted Galian, he invited him into the room.

"Sit down,"he told Galian. Galian did as requested, but Faolan remained standing, "Do you know what next week is?"

"I've lost track of the days, sir."

"Christmas, my good man. Next week is Christmas. I shall be spending the week in Anvard, celebrating with her highness,"he said this as though it were something Galian should be impressed with. Galian, on the other hand, had always assumed it was so, and made no comment. A little snubbed, Faolan nevertheless continued, "As much as I am aware that it is not always wise to assume such things, I do believe that I shall be quite safe within the confines of Anvard. If you wish, you may return home, or spend Christmas with your friends, or however it is that you celebrate Christmas. You shall have a week's time, and then I expect you to return to Anvard to resume your duties once more. Is that satisfactory?"

"More than satisfactory, sir, thank you,"Galian exclaimed. The mention of leaving this forsaken place and returning home cheered Galian up a good deal, and already he found himself anxious to see his home.

To his delight, Faolan decided to leave two days earlier than planned. Galian was to escort him to Anvard, then take his leave once Faolan was safely inside the walls of Anvard. Galian was mad with anxiety while waiting for Faolan, who seemed to always have messages to be passed on or other things to be attended to at the last minute, delaying their departure time by an hour or so. Finally, everything was settled, and the two were off.

Faolan seemed to be in very high spirits, as was Galian, and they had a rather pleasant ride to Anvard. Faolan, of course, had brought a small guard with him, and even his soldiers, whom Galian had witnessed to be very silent and grave, were laughing and joking and singing. All in all, it was a very merry party that reached Anvard, despite the late hour and the bitter coldness.

Though he had his leave, Galian did not go immediately. Having not seen them in so long, Galian sought out his friends, and was disappointed to find only Elisud, walking briskly from the hall that Galian knew led downstairs and eventually to the armorer.

"Well, now I've seen it all! It seems there's a ghost wandering Anvard's good halls,"Elisud exclaimed joyfully when he saw Galian. The latter laughed and shook his friend's hand, "It has been too long, old boy,"Galian said.

"Too right it has. How have you been, protecting the ass and all?"

Galian laughed again. He sorely had missed Elisud, "It has been...educational to say the least. Faolan is a very complex man."

Elisud turned to his friend in surprise, "I've witnessed another miracle. I never thought I'd see the day _you'd_ be saying kind things about Lord Faolan. Or, not unkind things, anyway."

Galian shook his head"I'm a little surprised myself. It's like he has two faces, one he wears in front of others and another he shows only in private. The private face is one you could almost like."

They walked a few more paces, then Galian asked, "Have you heard the story of Anierin?"

"Can't say I have,"Elisud responded, after a moment, "Who is he?"

"I'll tell you some other time. Not many people know that story."

"Why do you ask?"

"Faolan told it a few weeks ago after supper. Like I said, not many know about it, so I was rather surprised he knew of it, of all people."

"Do you know what else I learned?" Galian asked, "That Faolan's mother was kidnaped."

"I knew that. Everyone knew that."

"Yes, everyone who's been living in Archenland the past thirteen years,"Galian said dryly.

"Oh, right, I forgot. Well, why does it matter?"

"It explains a lot, actually. Why Faolan is so paranoid for instance. You know, this entire problem might have it's roots in that."

Elisud suddenly stopped, a terrible look on his face, like he was about to be sick. "Not here,"he whispered, in response to Galian's questions, "follow me," he continued, "and don't act like we're talking about anything in particular."

Elisud talked nonsense in rather a tense voice all the way across the manor, walking to the southwestern wing. Eventually they came to a hall where there was nothing but a small, worn door at the far end. Elisud unlocked this, then led Galian up a narrow, winding staircase, making sure to lock the door behind them before they started. Slightly winded, they finally reached the top room, which was nothing but a cold, bare room with two chairs facing a window that looking onto the abandoned west of Archenland. The tower creaked and shook in the wind, and Galian turned to Elisud, a little apprehensive, "Are you sure this is safe?"

"Of course it's safe. This tower has lasted hundreds of years, why would it fall apart now?"

Not reassured, Galian asked, "What is this place?"

"To everyone else, it's a lookout room we only use during times of war. To the cabinet members, it's a secret meeting room. There are some theories I'd like to bounce off of you,"he concluded, pulling up one of the chairs. Galian followed suit.

"I honestly do think,"Elisud began, "that your theory may be correct. About the kidnappers becoming slavers and then back to kidnappers again. The question is, why?"

"Well, it's like you said, Faolan is an important man. Who wouldn't want to have him?"

"Think like a bandit for a moment. If, out of all the people in Archenland, you could capture one of them and use him or her for ransom, who would you take?"

"Well...probably the queen,"Galian said after some pondering, "but that's nearly impossible. You said yourself she's the most well protected monarch in the world."

"Alright, who would be your second choice?"

"Princess Delwyn."

"Exactly,"Elisud exclaimed, excited, "whatever the case, you'd take some member of the royal family, wouldn't you?"

"What's your point?"Galian asked after a minute.

"My point is, if you were to kidnap someone, it would be someone obvious, some member of the royal family. You wouldn't kidnap the Queen's number three man, would you?"

"You might. If you've heard how rich he is."

"But you yourself told me that he's more protected than the Queen. So why do they repeatedly attempt to kidnap someone they know they can't get? Why wouldn't they move onto another target, someone much easier to steal away?"and to this, Galian had now answer.

"Why would someone kidnap Lord Faolan?"Elisud repeated, "because he is an important political figure. Because, as I've said before, he holds all the secrets to Archenland's survival. What good is information like that to a thief? To someone who just wants a bit of money? If these were normal thieves, they would see that attempting to abduct Faolan is pointless, and would move onto another target. And yet, they killed his father, abducted and killed his mother, and now they're coming after him. Common thieves don't do that, Galian. Unless they're someone he's offended in the past, which is very likely, there is really only one conclusion we can come to."

"And that is?"

"That the organizer of this group is a political party that wants to see Archenland fall. And who do we know that would like to see Archenland fall?"

Galian gasped, "Not...not _Calormen_!"

"Well, why not?"

"They'd never be so foolish, that's why not!"

"What's the worst that could happen to them? What do they have to fear from us? They know we won't attack, we don't have a large enough army. The only penalties they might acquire would be the penalties given them by the International Trade Coalition."

"Who?"Galian asked, feeling rather foolish for asking.

"Oh, surely you know about them. They were set up years before you were taken."

"I never was an economically-oriented fellow. So who are they?"

"A group of pompous old men who decided they needed something to do and set up something called the 'International Article of War & Peace.' They're supposed to make sure each country behaves itself, and that all the trade agreements are fair, and whatnot. It's a nice idea, but the entire organization is nothing but a mess of bureaucratic mess of red tape. They'd give Calormen a slap on the wrist and maybe limit their trade options, but for the most part a big country like Calormen wouldn't suffer all that much. Which means, they would almost have nothing to lose if they employed a group like ex-slavers to kidnap an important man like Faolan."

They paused again, idly watching their breath as it steamed, when Galian abruptly broke the silence, "But what about the Sorcerer?"

"What about him?"

"I've a feeling he plays into this somehow."

They thought a minute, then Elisud said, "He is the leader of the Serpens Russus, correct?"

"We think so."

"Well, then, there's your connection. Calormen hired this fellow to capture Lord Faolan. He tried bandits, and didn't succeed. He tried slavers, and again, did not succeed. Maybe he even organized that attack two years ago, and again, didn't succeed. Now, he's hired this cult, a known anarchist sect, to help him bring Archenland down."

"All for the sake of stealing away Lord Faolan?"

"I think that's more of a consolation prize. These are people who'd just as soon see the entire north fall."

"There's just a few problems with that. For one, I'm fairly certain slavers were snatching away Archenland's citizens long before Faolan was born, and long after, just as the bandits were robbing and the cult was...doing whatever cults do...long before and long after."

"Maybe, but he only just started using them. We know that by their increase of activity. From what I remember, there was an escalation in the number of robberies a few months before Faolan's parents were killed. Before you came and put and end to all the slavers, there was an increase in the number of missing people. Now, we're seeing the Serpens Russus more and more. Now that I think about it, it all really does seem connected."

"I don't know. Maybe you're just more aware of it now that you know about it. It's the same thing with bad apples."

Elisud gave a short, incredulous laugh, "Care to explain?"

"Back in Calormen a few years before I became a fighter, there were a few months where no one would eat apples. Apparently, about five people had died after they had eaten bad apples. After everyone heard about it, people suddenly began coming down with sicknesses and stomach problems they swore were 'apple related.' My point is, there was probably nothing wrong with the apples in the first place, but because people heard that others were dying or getting sick because of them, everyone began to think that all apples were unfit to eat. It's the same here. You find one person that was kidnaped, and suddenly you're more aware of it, so you see more cases of people being abducted. Someone you know is attacked by members of an occult, and suddenly you start to lookout for their activities. It all goes hand in hand."

"Well then, what do you think we should do then?"

"I think it's best not to make any assumptions until we absolutely know for sure. Right now, I think we should just concentrate on stopping these occult members. We'll look to Calormen later, when we have confirmation."

Elisud looked thoughtful once more, "And the Sorcerer? If he really is one, what do we do about him?"

"I hate to say nothing, but that's really all we can do. I'm afraid we're in over our heads as far as that's concerned."

"If he's in control of this entire thing, shouldn't we go to the root of the problem?"

"Elisud, my friend, if you wish to face an obviously powerful if not magical sorcerer, do it as you please."

"I hate to let this problem go unchecked."

"Alright, if I tell you something, you swear you won't breath a word about it? Not to the queen, not to your brother, not to anyone?"

"Alright."

"At this very moment, I have a friend who's doing a little spying on the Serpens Russus, or at least I hope he is."

Elisud's jaw dropped, "What..how...why in the hell didn't you tell me?"

"It's nothing personal, old man,"Galian said, trying to reconcile, "I just wanted to keep it a secret for a bit. Actually, I'm surprised Aoife didn't tell you."

"Aoife knows?"

"Aoife suggested it. Rather to keep me from going than anything else."

"So when this chap comes back..."

"...I'll hope to know what exactly we're up against."

"When is he coming back?"

"I told him to come back as soon as he thinks he's gather enough information. So really, there's no telling."

"That's splendid,"Elisud said sarcastically, "that means we might not see him until it's too late."

"It's the best option I have, right now. In the meantime, what do we do?"

"Be vigilant,"Elisud said, shrugging, "that's the only course I know to take. We're not sure what we're up against, and that bothers me."

"Me too. But we can only do what we're capable of doing."

The pair stood, an unspoken agreement between them that the hypothesizing was over, "Where did you hear that?"Elisud asked.

"Domus. He used to tell me that when I'd try to act bigger and older than I really was. It's funny, you know, I've been quoting him a lot lately."

They started their descent down the stairs, an easier journey than the climb. Elisud responded, "Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'm beginning to realize the dear old fool might have actually known what he was talking about."

Elisud gave a short laugh, and the two resumed their earlier gaiety, thinking longingly of that night's supper.


	6. Chapter 6

Forgive me, everyone, it's been too long since I have updated. This chapter ends abruptly, but it was already too long for my liking. Don't forget to review, and thank you to those who have already, and a special thank you to Sanarylle for the advertisement.

To quickly answer a previous question: When I say "powerful if not magical," I mean that the Sorcerer is powerful because already he has talked some very important groups of people into serving him. I suppose the sort of power I'm referring to is the power of words and of one man's ability to command, call it political power. I see now I should have specified, because it is very easy to confuse the two. My apologies. Alrighty, everything clear as mud?

This chapter is dedicated to the newest sailor in the U.S. Navy. I miss you so very much, and I've never been more proud of you. Be safe and come home soon, Pete.

Chapter 6.

"It's a pity you won't be spending Christmas with us."

Aoife spoke these words to Galian as the two walked about on the snow covered lawns just outside of Anvard. The snow crunched under their feet, making it difficult to walk but for now the two old friends didn't seem to mind. The sun shone, for once, and the land glistened silver in the light. No wind blew, luckily, though it was still as cold as ever. Galian and Aoife were both bundled up as much as comfort would allow, she wearing a light blue dress covered by a heavy, embroidered navy blue cloak, Galian choosing simpler, earthy tones. They walked arm in arm, enjoying each other's company, for they hadn't seen each other in what seemed to be too long, and grateful for the opportunity to stretch their legs.

"I was hoping you would come to the Dancing Lawn, to spend it with me,"Galian said, almost pleadingly.

"Oh Galian, I wish I could,"she said wistfully and truthfully, "but there's so much to do."

"Surely you don't plan to work on Christmas?"Galian pushed.

"No, but the days leading up to it and the days following I probably shall. We are very much behind schedule. Or Lord Sawyl says we are, though sometimes I'm inclined not to believe him."

She giggled a bit but Galian frowned, "I wish there was something I could do."

"So do I, but you've got enough to worry about right now. Protecting a nobleman seems to be very time consuming."

"More patience-consuming than anything else. But Faolan promised he would help, and yet he hasn't been away from his castle in several months."

"Do you know why?"

"I don't know a thing about what he's doing up there,"Galian burst angrily, "with the people he meets with and won't allow me to see, he could die and I would never know."

"Who are these people?"

"Spies, I can only assume. And apparently, no matter how wonderful a fighter he thinks I am, I'm still not trustworthy enough to know what he's planning."

"Well, no, I wouldn't think he thought you were. You've got to understand, he doesn't even tell Queen Eleytheria what he's up to half the time. And she knows not to ask. There are probably some secrets we don't want to know, Galian."

"If I'm to protect this man and Archenland, I think they are secrets I do need to know."

"I think you're just a naturally curious person,"Aoife teased, "and much more given to gossip than you like to let on."

"I think you'd best not get on my bad side,"Galian retorted. He steered her back towards the castle, "I have to get back. I need to pack my things. But promise me you'll think about coming to the Dancing Lawn for Christmas?"

"I promise, I'll think about it."

Galian left early the next day, and arrived home late in the afternoon with no event. The day was much like the one before, save that it was slightly warmer, and the icicles on the trees were beginning to melt slightly. Someone commented that warmer days were ahead, and Galian found himself yearning for spring as much as he had yearned for his home.

Everything looked much the same as it had when he left. Smoke rose from the two story stone house, and a thankful Galian blessed Silex for his foresight. His stable was beyond the house, and Dancer, upon seeing it, quickly cantered to it, thinking of hot mash and oats and a good rest. Upon entering, master and horse found a boy-faun asleep in a chair, covered by thick, black cloak. Smiling, Galian dismounted, then, abruptly but not harshly, kicked the boy's feet and said loudly, "Hey! I'm not paying you to sleep!"

The confused youngster jumped up deliriously, then, upon seeing his master, stammered, "Oh, s-s-sir, I wasn't expecting you."

"Calm down, Filius, I was only joking."

The young faun got straight to work, leading Dancer into her stall and set to work brushing her down. Galian followed him, slightly puzzled, "Filius, did you say you didn't know I was coming?"

"No, sir, I didn't."

"You didn't receive my message?"

"No, _I_ didn't. But you might ask Silex. He probably took it and didn't tell anyone. To tell you the truth, sir, I think the old faun's a bit barmy, if you know what I mean."

Galian laughed, "Silex always was rather eccentric."

"That's not what I mean, sir. Sometimes it's as if he's forgotten who he is or what he's doing. Then he gets angry with me because I haven't done something he hasn't told me to do. And he's come down with a nasty cold, sir, and you know how cranky he gets when he's sick."

"Yes,"Galian laughed a little, "I do know. And he doesn't recover as quickly as he did in his younger days. Well, what should I do with him then?"

"Send him away, that's what I would do if I were you."

"Where would I send him?"

"Oh, some nice dry cave where he can write books about how unruly and insubordinate young people are these days, like most old fauns do."

Galian laughed again, told Filius he could go home as soon as he was finished, and trudged towards the house. He felt a little better that Silex had only forgotten to announce his arrival. For a moment, he was beginning to suspect foul play...

He shook his head as he stamped his feet on the steps to the back door, "Silex?"he called as he walked in. A rush of warm air hit him, and he breathed a sigh of contentment. He had sorely missed his home.

The back door led into the kitchen, and here, pots and pans and other utensils were strewn about, mingled with cookbooks and perhaps a few breadcrumbs or so. Galian looked about curiously, for Silex had always been a very clean one.

"Silex?"he called again, walking through the dining room and into the sitting room. A fire blazed, casting shadows over the large sofa and chairs, but Silex was nowhere to be seen. He walked through the long hall, to the room a the foot of the stairs, which was now Silex's room. They had relocated him from the second floor, as the old faun couldn't get around as well as he used to, and by now climbing stairs was nearly impossible. The door was cracked open, and there, on the bed, completely covered, was the small figure of a faun. Silex was shaking uncontrollably, and his breathing was labored.

"Silex?"Galian whispered almost fearfully, and lightly touched his shoulder.

Immediately, Silex jumped up with a shout, causing Galian to stumble backwards into the wall and give an equally surprised yell. Cursing, the Silex croaked, "What in the blazes are you doing, you idiot? Trying to scare me to death?"

"I could ask you the same thing,"Galian shot back, "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"Sick? Of course not. Who said I was sick? Isn't an old faun allowed to rest his bones every once in a while?"

With that, he swung his legs off the bed, reached for a stick, and hobbled out of the bedroom, leaving Galian still leaning against the wall, trying to still his heart. When he finally caught his breath, he walked leisurely to the kitchen, where Silex was preparing dinner. He looked up from his cutting board and asked Galian, "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

Galian's heart skipped a beat, "I sent a message two days ago."

"Don't tell me! I never received any message."

"Maybe you forgot,"Galian hinted.

"Why does everyone insist I forget things?"Silex burst angrily, "I'm _not_ forgetful. I just...I just..."and he stood a minute, scratching his head, "What was I doing?"he asked himself.

"Silex, for heaven's sake,"Galian said impatiently, "I want you to think. Did you receive any letter from me?"

"No, no, for the hundredth time, no! Do me a favor, boy, get out of my way while I'm trying to...to...oh just go away."

Galian was chased, in a sense, to the sitting room. He sunk into the soft couch, deep in thought. He prayed Filius was right, that Silex was becoming forgetful these days. Otherwise, it meant someone was up to no good.

Dinner was simple and Silex talked nonstop about everything that had happened since Galian had been gone. It turned out he had gotten his cold from attending the Winter Dance, which he claimed was getting steadily worse since the day he resigned his position as one of the fiddlers.

"You know, son, Domus and I used to fiddle with that bunch in our younger days. Oh, what brilliant days they were..."

He continued with menial gossip, the only other significant bit of information being that every night a few dwarves would ride by on little ponies, as if they were surveying the land.

"That's just Griffle's followers,"Galian explained, clearing away the dishes, "they're making sure you're all safe."

"Why do they care?"

"I suppose Griffle's protecting his investment."

"His investment?"

"Yes, I told you about the deal he and I made back in autumn."

"Oh, yes, right, of course,"Silex muttered, though Galian wasn't sure he did know. When he finished with the dishes, Silex jerked out of his deep thought and said, "Join me in the den?"

They sat before the fire, Silex lighting a pipe and Galian doing his best not to nod off. Not that he was bored, on the contrary, he was more comfortable than he had ever been. His eyes wandered about the room, and eventually landed on a small wooden box setting atop the mantle. Rising from his seat, he asked Silex, "How did this get here?"

"I took it out the other night. I got to thinking about the days when Domus and I thought we would make superb court musicians."

Galian laughed, "You two?"

"It was a rather silly dream, I suppose. But Domus, oh, could he play that flute! Do you know, people used to say his tunes were as alive as you or me. They literally made people laugh or cry or fight or sleep or whatever he wanted them to do. It was the closest thing to magic I had ever seen."

Galian fingered the two pronged flute, which looked to be made out of some sort of bone, running his rough fingers over the smooth surface. Regaining his seat, he asked, "Why didn't you two ever teach me to play an instrument?"

"Well, son, we would have, if you hadn't been so keen so go gallivanting off every other week."

Galian grinned, and yet his grin was a little remorseful. Yet another wonderful way he and Domus could have spent their time together, wasted because he had been such a carefree, irresponsible child.

By chance, he glanced out the window, and saw three dark shapes moving about against the lantern that glowed outside. Silex followed his gaze, and said, "There're those blasted dwarves again. We're lucky the General's gone to visit his friends in Beruna. He goes completely mad with his barking every night they come round."

The General was a young, overactive sheepdog so nicknamed because of his no-nonsense, take charge attitude. He was usually the one Galian relied on to get the farmwork completed.

He stood immediately, placing the aged flute on the table beside him. Grabbing his cloak, he made a quick explanation to Silex as to where he was going and raced into the snow to catch the passers by.

They saw him and waited patiently. As soon as he reached them, Galian said breathlessly, "Good evening, my good dwarves. Would you like to come in for a moment?"

"We wish we could, Sir Galian,"one replied, having to shout over the wind, "but we've only come to see that everything is undisturbed."

"Did Griffle send you?"

"He knows your farm is unprotected. In light of recent events, he finds it necessary to make sure all his assets are guarded."

"Did a messenger come by two days ago? Someone with a letter from me?"

Another dwarf answered, "We come by at night, Sir Galian, and only once a week. If a messenger did come, we wouldn't know. However, we shall ask our brothers."

Galian thanked them, then shouted, "My offer of hospitality still stands..."

"We must be getting back. Good evening, Sir Galian."

"Good evening to you. And send Griffle my thanks."

Galian ran back to the house, feeling quite frozen by this time. He immediately ran towards the fire, and nearly burnt his hand by sticking it so close to the flame. As he thawed, he looked to Silex, who had nodded off and was snoring loudly. Covering him and making sure the fire was well stocked, Galian left the faun to sleep on the sofa, by far more comfortable than that old bed he had. He started to the stairs, then looked back to where he had set the flute. As he picked it up and set it in its case, he felt the magic Silex had referred to. Or he thought he did. Galian had never much believed in magic. All his life, he had only known things that were practical, until recently. All that talk about special potions and life-prolonging fruit seemed like fairy tales to him.

All this talk about the Sorcerer, however, had challenged his beliefs. Who was this man? The question repeated itself in Galian's mind, over and over again, as if it were a song he were singing. Who was he? Did he really, truly, have magical powers? Or was he merely a charismatic man, one who could talk anyone into carrying out any order he wished. Perhaps it was his prior convictions that made that decision for him, but Galian was inclined to believe the latter. Thus far, no magic had been used. Only fear, and that in itself was a very useful weapon. No, Galian reasoned, this person was a mortal man (or perhaps beast) who was very charismatic and persuasive and obviously very fearful, but he was still a man (unless he was a beast), and men (and beasts) could very easily be taken down.

Galian pitched in where he was needed over the next several days. Filius kept asking him why on earth he would be working when he was supposed to be on holiday, but he, nor any of the others, understood how relaxing this was for Galian, after the stress and aggravation of Anvard and Stormness Head. News came to him each night in the form of Silex's gossip, and thus far, nothing exciting or otherwise important had occurred.

The dwarves had gotten over their shyness, or whatever was holding them back, and each night Galian was joined by a different trio of dwarves. They smoked and drank and told merry stories, and these small parties were often carried late into the nights. Though Galian was glad for the company, one small problem kept arising; none of the dwarves knew anything about a messenger. Unless they came during the day, they knew nothing of any messages at all.

Galian was beginning to worry. Silex swore on his life he had not received any messages, and usually he was willing to admit when and if he had forgotten something. Filius hadn't heard from anyone. The only other one who might know something would be the General. And the General wouldn't have left if he had known his master was coming. Then again, during the holidays, or any special occasion for that matter, the General could be slightly attention deficit. Whatever the case, he was almost Galian's last hope.

Galian spent his Christmas Eve celebrating with the dwarves and their families. It was a very merry party, and even Silex was unable to pretend he was having an awful time. There was much singing, dancing, laughing, eating, and storytelling. It was well after midnight when one dwarf with his small child atop his back said reluctantly that they probably should be getting home, and the others soon followed suit, but they all promised to come back for dinner the next day. Galian, too excited to sleep, cleaned up as best he could, singing to himself and congratulating himself on a very nice party. It was during this reflection of the night's events that Galian so happened to look out the window, and saw a very large figure prowling about just outside his gate.

Galian came back to reality in double quick time. He grabbed his sword, doused the light, and waited by the window. By the shape, he knew it wasn't any of the dwarves. Its gait was smooth, it never stumbled, only crept about deliberately and cautiously. Without warning, it stopped after passing through the gate, and let out a long, melancholy howl.

From where he sat in the den, Galian heard Silex jump from his bed and call out, "What on earth is that?"in the most frightened voice he had ever issued.

Galian, however, was relieved at the howl, and called back, "It's only another late caller. Go back to sleep,"and he threw down his sword and flung the door wide open, calling, "Ulric! What a wonderful Christmas present!"

The wolf slid in, gave a hurried apology for the late hour, then asked if it truly was Christmas.

"I suppose I lost track of the days,"he muttered " It feels like I've been gone much longer."

Galian got him something hot to drink and stoked the fire, and waited patiently until Ulric was warm and comfortable. He didn't look as bad as Galian had thought he would; his fur was a slightly ruffled and he was a little leaner than the last time Galian had seen him, but otherwise he was perfectly healthy and in very good spirits.

"Well, shall I give you the report now, or save it for the morning?"

"Whichever you prefer. You're the one who's been roaming the wild woods for months on end."

"Alright, I'll start now then. They weren't that difficult to find, really. You remember, these fellows had just attacked the dwarves when I set off. They had hidden in the woods and were just starting the journey back home when I overtook them. I followed them straight to their camp, about a week and a half's journey. I wish I could say it was a small camp, but unfortunately that would be a lie. There were well over two hundred men in the three separate camps I was able to locate, and I have reason to believe there may be more.

Much of their time was spent pillaging and kidnaping. No native Archenlanders or Narnians were taken, or very few were, but most of these poor souls were trailblazers and pioneers who had chosen to live on the very outskirts of civilized land. Some were kept in the camp, some were sent away after a few days, I never learned where, and I don't think I would want to know where or why they taken. Anyway, they did much of this, but it seemed most of their time was spent searching for something."

"What?"Galian asked.

For once, the smooth-talking Ulric showed some hesitation, "I...I can't be certain.."

"Just tell me what you know,"Galian replied with patience.

"Well, sir, it seemed they were looking for..well...a _spell book_."

"A what?"

"A spell book, or something of that sort,"Ulric paused again, asking, "Sir, if I may ask...do you believe in magic?"

Galian sighed, "Until lately, no, I never really put any stock in magic. I believed in the tangible."

"As did I, sir. But now..."

"Now things have changed. I suppose we can't believe in absolutes anymore. But tell me, what sort of spell book were they looking for? Do you have an idea?"

"Well, sir, I can't say I'm the authority on spell books. I wouldn't know one from the other, so I can't tell you if there is any one specific book they are looking for. I do know they spent a great deal of the time talking of treasure-hunting spells, weather-changing spells, a healing potion, all sorts of incantations and potions to use against the enemy, spying spells and incantations, things of that sort."

Galian stroked his chin, feeling the prickle of facial hair trying to regrow. Then, he froze, as if just now realizing what Ulric had said.

"Did...did you say a healing potion?"he asked fearfully.

"Yes, but what does it matter? I'm rather more worried more worried about the magic used against enemies, us being the enemy you know..."

Galian didn't hear him. Quicker than thought, he was out of his seat and jogging down the hall and upstairs, a confused Ulric easily catching up with him. He didn't halt until he reached the library. The smell of aged books met them as they entered. The walls were lined from top to bottom with shelves, and each shelf was full of books. Galian, however, was looking for one very specific book. It took him no time to find _Untold Tales of Narnia and Archenland_, and, throwing the book down on the lone table in the room with a loud clamor, nearly ripped the pages apart to get to the right story. There, staring back at him, was a rather graphic illustration of an insane Aneirin, with a victorious and smirking Areli off to the side.

"Do you know the story of Aneirin?"Galian asked Ulric, a question he realized he had been asking a lot the past few days.

"Can't say I do,"Ulric said, his forepaws resting on the table, "is there time to hear it?"

Galian gave Ulric a very quick, condensed version, but Ulric got the gist of it. Growing more perplexed by the minute, he said, "But...that's sounds like a fairy tale. Something to tell the cubs at bedtime."

"I always thought so too. As I said, I never had much faith in that sort of thing."

"You never believed the stories of Queen Lucy and her cordial?"

"Well...that's different. Aslan gave it to her."

"So?"

"So, there's a difference between a divine being giving you a special potion, and then you making one for yourself. Do you have any idea what is in this potion?"

"Not something you'd find in the marketplace, I'm sure..."

"Ulric, according to the legends I've heard, the healing potion contains anything from the finger of a Narnian child to the blood of a monarch. People have _died_ so this potion might be completed. My point is, the people who want to make it are undoubtedly the most wicked, cold-hearted beings alive."

Ulric shivered at the thought, and said nothing for quite some time. Both man and beast were thinking hard and fast about the atrocities these men might have already carried out. It explained with horrifying simplicity why the Serpens Russus had taken so many captives.

"Did they say where they have looked?"Galian asked presently.

"They've searched all over the north, or they claim they have. They've searched the underground lakes and the land surrounding them. They're currently searching the Western Wild, some even said they ventured into Telmar. They've looked in Narnia, Archenland, and Calormen, but from what I gather it wasn't a very thorough search and they're going to do it again."

"What about the islands?"

"I don't think they've thought of that. I suppose it's possible it might have traveled that far."

There was another tense silence, then Galian asked, "Was anything said about a Sorcerer?"

"They swore by him, sir,"Ulric answered, a little surprised that Galian should know that.

"Did you ever see him?"

"No sir, as far as I know, he never visited any of the three camps I spied on. No one ever asked of his whereabouts either. I rather didn't think the man actually existed. I assumed he was just a name the leaders used to trick the others into subordination."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps he's just an ordinary man with an innate ability to make men abide by his wishes. Or..."

"Or he might really be a Sorcerer."

"He might."

"Sir, with all due respect, do you really think..."

"I told you, lately so much has happened that has challenged every prior conviction I ever held. I don't know who this man is, nor the amount of real danger he is to us. I do know he must be stopped as soon as possible. Now, please try to remember. Do you have any idea where this Sorcerer might be located?"

"I'm sorry sir, no. I don't believe he is located in just one place. They, the leaders that is, seem to believe that he moves about, checking up on things, if you will, never staying in one place very long."

"Very wise,"Galian said, half bitterly and half admiringly.

"Yes, sir, this much we know. He is no fool."

After this, the wolf gave a stretch and a yawn. Galian, as if noticing his fatigue for the first time, suddenly said, "Forgive me for keeping you up so late. I do hope you'll stay for Christmas tomorrow..."

"I shall for a while. It has been too long since I have seen my family."

"I understand. Get a good night's sleep, Ulric. And thank you, for putting your life on the line to save others."

"I am only an unworthy servant, sir. I have only done my duty,"came the humble, smooth voice of Ulric (A/N: Trivia question; Where did I read that quote? Winner gets a pat on the back...)

At that, he limbered easily out of the room and down the stairs, thinking longingly of fireplaces and of his home. Galian, however, remained in the library, staring at the picture of Aneirin, as if somewhere in that picture lay the answers to all the questions he had. Who the bloody hell was this Sorcerer? A figment of the imagination of the leaders of the Serpens Russus? A very charismatic man who had the ability to move armies with one word? Or was he truly the most horrific wielder of magic to enter Narnia's history since the White Witch?

And this spell book? What was he to do about that? He had no idea where to start looking, nor how he was to know if the Serpens Russus had found it first. And yet it was absolutely vital that he find it before they did. He looked to the book before him and began to read. Though he had read it a thousand times, he paid much more attention, as if there were some secret meaning within the pages, some hidden clue that would tell him the whereabouts of this spell book. When he found no clue in that book, he turned to another. Then another. Then another. Soon, a stack of books almost higher than he could reach sat on the table. His eyes were beginning water and burn. The candle he had lit was burning low. And yet he didn't stop. Wearily, he reached for book after book. Domus had once bragged that he had the most extensive library in South Narnia; surely the answer to this riddle lay in one of those books.

But soon, Galian found he could barely keep his eyes open. With one last effort, he forced his eyes open. But suddenly, everything had changed. The candle had gotten brighter, and the room, bigger. The books he had been reading had disappeared, and he thought angrily that now he would have to start over again.

He saw a figure at the door but found he couldn't stand or even move. The figure came closer and closer, and Galian saw, with fear and delight, that it was Domus.

Domus said not a word, only gave Galian that knowing look, the one he usually reserved for situations when he had known he was right about something and Galian was wrong. He walked slowly, as if he were wading in water, the sounds of his hoofs hammering sharply on the stone floor (though to Galian's knowledge, the floor had always been carpeted). He walked to the fireplace, looked back with a smile, and pushed on the back, a spot just above the logs. The stone wall seemed to give way, and a draft of cold, cold air hit Galian. He rose from his chair, with the intent of going through the opening, but instead found himself falling...

He hit the soft, carpeted floor and awoke with a start. The room was dark, the candlelight finally spent. The library seemed to be back to its normal size. In a sweat, Galian rose and looked to the fireplace. It sat there as innocently as a fireplace might, looking very ordinary indeed. Galian walked to it, almost as slowly as Domus had in his dream. He stooped, examining the stone carefully. With a trembling hand, he pushed hard against the back. Strangely, he was not surprised when it gave way.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks everyone, for they lovely comments. All two of them, lol.

Disclaimer: You know...

Chapter 7.

The air from the tunnel was cold and musty, and Galian nearly vomited at the smell of stale air and decay. He relit his candle, and, making sure his sword was in place, slid through the small opening. He was at once greeted with a winding staircase, one befouled with layers of dust and slimy mold and thick cobwebs. It was a short descent to the bottom, and at first Galian could see nothing. A torch was mounted by the entrance, and Galian lit it and the six others that surrounded the room, a circular room, about twenty feet in diameter. It seemed to be another library, though not as well kept. Books were strewn about haphazardly, and paper littered the floor as though it were carpet. More books and stacks of papers sat on the shelves, but not neatly as it was in the library, but rather chaotically, as though the person setting them there had been in a great hurry.

Galian set his candle on a little end table just below the torch by the door, and reached for the nearest book that sat on the floor, a thick, black book. The title, in gold letters, was written in a language he was not familiar with. The illustrations, however, were so graphic Galian began to bless his own fate that he couldn't read this particular book.

The other books were the same, some written in his own language, others in strange forms he had never seen. All of them; however, had one thing in common. They were all spell books.

He examined one volume written in his language. This one didn't seem too particularly dangerous, mostly spells to find gold or to get rid of a cold or turn someone who is annoying you into a frog. The next he reached for was a bit more serious; it contained eavesdropping spells or storm-conjuring spells and even some poisons. One spell that particularly interested him was a spell to find something you have lost, and here Galian was almost not surprised to see a few notes in the margin written in Domus's handwriting. Apparently, Domus had tried this many times in his quest to locate Galian.

Which meant, Galian concluded, that Domus had been mixed up in something very, very outlandish. He glanced nervously at the books and papers on the shelves. Which, of those spells and potions, had Domus used?

The next morning, Christmas morning, Silex awoke cheerfully, whistling Christmas tunes from the moment he awoke. He hobbled to the kitchen, nearly jumped at the sight of a gigantic wolf sleeping on the hearth, then shrugged his shoulders and resumed his journey. He received another shock upon entering; Galian was sitting at the table as he walked in.

"Good morning, boy, and a Merry Christmas to you,"he said lightheartedly. Galian did not respond.

"Someone's a bit cranky. Come now, where's your Christmas spir..."he turned and was cut off by the stern, livid glare on Galian's face.

"What on earth's gotten into you, boy?"

"What was Domus doing with a mass of spell books?"

The pan that had previously been in Domus's hand fell to the floor, so loud Ulric in the next room jumped. Silex did his best to erase the look of shock on his face, and bent down to pick up the pan, asking in a quivering voice, "What the devil are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. The secret passageway? The spells and potions? Why did he have them? I know they're not yours, so they must have been his. What was he doing with them?"

Ulric greeted them with a sleepy good morning as he entered, then paused halfway to the table, suddenly becoming aware of the tension in the room.

"Galian, there are a lot of things you don't know about Domus..."

"Obviously," the other shot.

"I honestly can tell you I don't know anything about that secret passageway you found, though I'm not at all surprised he built one..."

"Wait, wait, what secret passageway?"Ulric asked, feeling a little left out.

"There's a secret passageway in the study,"Galian answered, " I found it last night. The question is, why is it there?"

"I'll tell you if you'll shut up a minute," Silex said impatiently, " Domus was...well, he was very intrigued by magic. Ever since we were young. He kept asking Father all about magic, how magicians got their powers, why there weren't more magicians around. He was fascinated by the stories of King Caspian's voyage to the eastern end of the world, where he met several magical people. He had the opportunity to talk with Caspian's wife once, and he plagued her with questions about her father and about the lives of stars and all that. When he was old enough, he left home on a quest to find real magic. He came back every now and then, always laden with books and magical instruments and whatnot. I never really gave a thought as to where he put them. I suppose now I know."

Galian was beyond stunned. He had always thought of Domus as a lively but still ordinary old faun, perhaps a little too given to sticking to the rules. But a magician?

"Where did he find all those spell books?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. He came home one day for good and never talked about his journeys. Oh, he told grand stories to the family about headless walking corpses who worked for some evil warlock, or stories about lakes of fire, but he always told me in private that none of them were really true."

He left the room for a moment, and Ulric, who had been silent for some time, asked Galian, "Sir, do you think..."

"If the spell book of our Sorcerer's is anywhere, it might be there."

"I say we start looking immediately."

"I can't. The dwarves are coming back today to celebrate Christmas. Knowing them, they'll stay til midnight and maybe even beyond."

"I'll look, then."

"I can't ask you to spend your Christmas like that, Ulric. That room is a positively depressing place. Besides, I though you were starting home today."

"Yes sir, but I'd rather spend one Christmas day looking for a document that could mean the end of Christmas days should it fall into the wrong hands."

"Ulric, if I were a king, I'd have you knighted and give you all the riches of Narnia,"Galian said thankfully, "How can I ever repay you?"

"Never ask me to do anything again,"the he replied with a wolfy grin, and gave Galian a little nip on the arm. After bolting down a quick breakfast, he started upstairs and into the passageway.

The dwarves arrived around noon, and this time, Griffle accompanied them. The atmosphere was stiff for a moment until Griffle pulled out a recorder and began to play tunes you couldn't help but dance to. The party from the previous night resumed again, and everyone was having a wonderful time. Everyone, that is, but Galian. Time and time again, he glanced to the stairs, his mind on the secret passageway, wishing he was able to help the unfortunate Ulric. At one point, as everyone was singing, Griffle approached Galian, said politely, "Thank you for your hospitality."

Galian, who had been in deep though, jumped at the sound of Griffle's voice, then bowed and said, "Why, it is no trouble at all, sir. I hope you're having a good time."

"Never better,"there was a moment's hesitation, then, "they tell me you've been having a bit of trouble with your mail."

Galian replied, "Rather, the lack of it. I sent a message two days before I arrived, and no one claims to have any knowledge of the message at all."

"Who was your messenger?"

"One of Queen Eleytheria's long-distance mail carriers."

"A long distance mail carrier...that means you might not see him for weeks."

"If he's alive at all."

"Galian, part of the reason I came here today, besides hearing excellent recommendations about the parties you throw, was to make a proposition. I've sent my subordinates here every night to ensure that all is safe and well, but three dwarves are not what I would call a sufficient guard. Therefore, with your permission, I'd like to station a permanent garrison on your farm as long as you are away."

Galian flushed, and stammered, "Why...uh, thank you, Griffle. That is more than generous."

"You do not agree that it is necessary?"

"Oh, no, it's not that. It's just, well, your people are miners, not farmers. I'm afraid they might be in the way."

"I can ensure you that my dwarves will not be a nuisance. Despite what you have heard, I do have a good number of dwarves who are experienced farmers. They shall help where they are needed."

"I shan't be able to pay them for their work," Galian said doubtfully.

"I do not need your money,"Griffle, commented, using the grand voice he always used when talking about money or riches, "I shall take care of expenses."

Galian quickly apologized. Griffle turned back to the party, and as he did, Ulric appeared at the top of the stairs, tail wagging furiously and an excited look on his face. Making sure no one was going to miss him, Galian bounded up the stairs. As he reached the top, Ulric whispered, "I can't be sure, but I think I've found the very thing we're looking for."

They rushed into the study and through the fireplace into the secret room, Ulric always at least five feet in front of him. The room had a slightly better smell to it, but it still held a suffocating and almost foreboding quality that made Galian want to bolt from it as much as the magic of the room drew him to it.. A stack of papers and books sat on one side of the room, and Galian correctly assumed these were books and papers Ulric had already read. In the center was a thick, green book, and beside it, several aged, yellow documents.

"This spell book is the one, alright," Ulric said, "it contains every potion and incantation the Serpens mentioned, and then some really horrible ones they didn't."

Galian flipped through the book, seeing some very terrifying illustrations indeed. After a moment, he said, "There's no healing potion."

"No, not in the book. Look in the papers beside you."

Galian reached for them, and, on the very top, was a list of ingredients needed to make a healing potion. At the very top was the scalp of a Narnian virgin.

"Hell,"Galian whispered, going down the list. The ingredients required were enough to make the strongest of stomach extremely queasy.

"Sir,"Ulric said from somewhere behind him, "look at the date."

Galian looked to the right corner, and there, plain as it could be, were the words_ The 23rd day of Spring, 1021._

"I don't believe it,"he said and an awed voice, "this is the _original_ copy. The copy Aneirin himself wrote!"

"Yes, sir. And, very likely, the only copy."

Galian flipped to the next document, and saw it was a map, though a map of nothing he had seen before. It looked to be a pathway leading through hills and valleys, over waterfalls and through canyons. Galian realized, with a thundering heart, that this was the route to the Garden from which the ancient Tree of Protection derived.

"This is incredible,"Galian whispered.

"I know, sir, I know. The very documents Aneirin himself had. The documents Areli stole. If you don't mind, sir, I'm going to have a look at the rest. Just in case."

"A very wise decision. Can I bring you anything? Food and drink perhaps?"

"A bowl of water will do. I actually made a very good feast of the mice that live down here. Not the perfect Christmas meal, but satisfactory."

Galian held back the reflexive gag that had crept up on him and brought Ulric the water he requested. The dwarves eyed him curiously when he returned, the worst coming from Griffle, but nothing further was said. As predicted, the party lasted well into the night, and finally, just after midnight, the dwarves left. Silex was once again left to his good mood, and Galian, who had gotten very little sleep in the past twenty four hours, stumbled up the stairs, then remembered Ulric.

The wolf was asleep on the floor, though Galian didn't know how he could sleep on such a cold, damp floor, then he remembered that Ulric had probably slept on worse. In fact, he himself had probably slept on worse. All the books had been replaced, and the documents were neatly placed on the little table and in vacant spots on the shelves. For a frightening moment Galian was unable to locate the spell book and the map, but laughed when he saw Ulric sleeping on them. He shook the wolf awake, jumped back when the wolf awoke suddenly baring his teeth, then apologized for snapping at him.

"I suppose the atmosphere of this room has made me rather paranoid."

"Again, I apologize. I would have helped you if I could."

"I know sir. I found a few more interesting reads."

Galian piked up a smaller, black leather book that turned out to be Aneirin's journal. The other papers were the trial potions Aneirin used that hadn't worked. He found the journal really rather interesting. Galian was given a first hand account of the way the madman's mind worked, and though frightening, it was intriguing nonetheless. Ulric sat dozing as Galian read on, seeing Aneirin's insanity increase over time and with each test of a different potion. Finally, the journal ended, and Galian said, so suddenly Ulric snapped awake with a growl, "Incredible. Absolutely incredible."

"Excuse me, sir,"Ulric said, "but what are you going to do now?"

"Now?"Galian said. He looked at the pile of documents thoughtfully, then at the torches on the wall. Without a word, he returned the journal to the pile, grabbed a torch, and laid it to the pile of paper.

An odd thing happened then. Though the fire flickered and danced, the documents did not ignite. Galian piked up the map and held it directly to the flame, and still it did not catch. Ulric even offered a bit of the fur from his, and the small patch was lit and set amongst the papers. The fire consumed the fur, but the documents still did not burn.

"He must have put some sort of spell on it,"Ulric stated, "which really explains why Areli took them in the first place. And all this time I thought it was because he was greedy and power-hungry."

"So did I. The question is, what do we do with it now?"

"Leave it here, sir, if it pleases you. It's remained undiscovered for this long, odds are it will for a while longer."

"I doubt it,"Galian said wearily, "if the Serpens are intercepting my messages, it's only a matter of time before they begin to search the house, dwarf brigade or no. No, we have to get these documents as far away from here as possible, to somewhere safe."

"But where?"

"I've an idea. It's almost too much to hope for, but it just might work."

"What is it?"

"You realize we can't tell anyone about what we have. Word might very easily get round to those who would do anything for this sort of power, and I don't just mean the Serpens. We have to wrap it up, as if it were a package. Then, either send it to Anvard or Cair Paravel and have them hide it in the deepest, darkest corner of the most secret treasure rooms they have."

"You're suggesting we send this to King Rilian or Queen Eleytheria and tell them this is something very dangerous but not to open it and put it in his or her own personal safe?"

"Yes, well, more than likely we shall ask Queen Eleytheria. Of the two, she trusts my judgement the most."

"What if they ask questions?"

"We shan't tell them any more than they need to know. Understand, Ulric, this is the most dangerous of secrets. Anyone who knows might have already forfeited their life. Are you alright with that?"

"My life had been endangered many times before, as has yours. If this is your decision, I shall not argue. Truthfully, I agree that it seems to be the best one."

He yawned and stretched, and Galian, pity finally getting the better of him, said, "Go to sleep, Ulric. We'll talk more of this tomorrow."

Ulric slowly but still smoothly trotted up the stairs, and Galian doused all the lights save one, and he carried this, along with the books and papers, up to his room, and after putting the torch out, hid the books under his pillow. Despite his weariness, he was unable to find sleep for a long, long time.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you, one and all, for the reviews! I felt the love! I am so very grateful for all of my faithful reviews who have stuck with me this long. Your approval means the most to me.

All the same, I am a tad irked that I'm only getting three reviews per chapter, and usually it's from the same people (not that I don't appreciate your suggestions and comments, like I said, I depend on your criticism). With all the cliched stories that are being put out, I would think people would like something original. If you're reading, please, please, please review, so that I may know more than eight people are reading.

Disclaimer: Seriously?

Chapter 8

Galian slept little that night. He awoke very early and in a very foul mood. The weather matched his disposition, and the day began with a dreary, wet fog that seemed to have no hopes of lessening at all during the day. He waited with increasing tension until he heard Silex stirring downstairs. He dressed and descended, and saw that Ulric was sitting beside the door, in much the same state. Galian sat on the sofa beside him, saying quietly, "We must leave. Today."

The wolf neither agreed nor disagreed, but said, "I have the worst feeling about today, Galian. I felt it when I awoke."

"It's the weather, I imagine. The fog in particular gives one a nasty feeling."

"No, sir, I mean I really feel as if something terrible is going to happen today. Call it a sixth sense. Impending doom waits for those who walk outside this house."

"You're beginning to sound like a centaur."

"Sir Galian, please, listen to me..."

"Ulric, I am listening. Believe it or not, I am absolutely positive we will be attacked today or tomorrow. But if I'm going to fight, I'm going to do it away from my home, away from all my workers who have no reason to be involved."

"But the forest is not at all defensible. In the house, you can withstand them."

"Yes, but for how long? How long until we run out of food or they set fire to my home and my land?"

Ulric sighed, "You're leaving today?"

"Yes, I am. The longer I stay the more endangered everyone is."

"Where will you go?"

"Anvard. I only hope Queen Eleytheria will be in an understanding mood."

"I shall go with you."

Galian sharply drew in his breath, "That may not be a good idea, Ulric."

"Why not, sir?"

"Like you said, very likely something awful is about to happen. I don't want you caught in the middle or it all, not after all you've done for me."

"Sir Galian, I am probably nearly as experienced in warfare as you are. I am perfectly capable of handling myself, and I know the risks involved. Besides, if I accompany you, I will be able to tell Queen Eleytheria first hand of the dangers of these men."

"That should delay your homecoming further, I'm afraid."

"I know."

They announced their departure to a surprised and rather cranky Silex, gave Filius orders to tell the dwarves, who would arrive in the next few days, where they had gone, wrapped the spell book and the papers in a brown paper package, and stuffed it into Galian's saddlebags. He was dressed in full battle gear, earning him a confused glare from Silex. The journey was not a pleasant one, neither wolf nor man speaking at all, both trying their hardest to see any potential enemies through the thick mist or trying to hear the sound of approaching assailants over Dancer's hoofbeats.

It was just after noon when they reached the pass to Archenland. Here they allowed themselves a short rest and a little to eat. Galian had just dismounted and pulled some bread out of his saddlebags when he heard the most peculiar noise. It was the sound of a bird, though no bird he had ever heard before. It's chirping was rather low-pitched, and the notes were held far longer than a small bird could be expected to hold. The worst part of it was, he could hear at least five, distinct voices.

Ulric had noticed it long before Galian had. With head raised and tail erect, he listened more intently, then said softly, "That's not right..."

"They've found us. Come on."

He leapt onto Dancer's back as quick as he could, but it was too late. They had not gone four paces before their way was barred by five green cloaked men. He tried to turn around, only to find that way blocked by five more members of the Serpens Russus.

From the group blocking the road to Archenland stepped forth a rather large fellow, with balding black hair, an ugly, unshaven face, and a voice that reminded Galian of the dim-witted but kindly talking bears that lived in Narnia, though this man was by far neither dim-witted nor kind.

"Hand it over, Sir Galian, or you shall see your end,"he said.

"Hand what over?"Galian asked cautiously, trying to buy himself more time.

The leader, for that is what he was, laughed, "Don't play games with me, boy. I am no fool. You have in your possession a spell book and a map our master would very much like to have. If you give them to me, I shall spare you and your friend."

"Only to kill us another day?"

The leader flashed a humored, poisonous smile, "Really, Sir Galian, that is your decision. It would be wise to not resist the Mightiest Sorcerer who ever lived."

"And if I do not resist, you shall spare my life and that of my friend?"Galian asked, not believing for a moment that they would.

"We will,"the man proclaimed, though mockery was evident in his face.

"You underestimate my will, sir. I see through your lies."

"Then you shall die."

"Again you underestimate me. Ten? I have faced worse odds many times before."

"Yes, but had your opponents the power of the Almighty Sorcerer?"

Galian withdrew his sword and pointed it at the leader, "We shall see what good the power of your Sorcerer does against the strength of Aslan."

The leader attacked. Galian followed suit. The remaining nine were supposed to follow their leader, but instead watched in awe as the two clashed. Galian dove under their leader's sword and drove his blade into the ill-fated one's armpit, and dark blood spurted forth. Ulric took advantage of their unpreparedness, and in an instant his teeth were at someone's throat. In two strokes Galian had cut the leg of one and the head off another, and left Ulric to face the last of that group as he turned to face the fast-approaching five. He charged again, catching one poor fool's unprotected side and cut off another's arm. His next opponent dodged his lunge, and the tip of the enemy's point went through Galian's chain mail and into his side. Galian dealt the fiend a stab to the neck, doing his best to ignore the crippling pain in his left side. Ulric had finished the fourth, though Galian noticed with horror the large, dark red patch on Ulric's chest. The remaining attacker threw down his weapons and ran for his life, but Galian caught up with him easily. After a slight scuffle, he tied and gagged the prisoner, and set him on Dancer, then inspected his wounds. It was an annoying little cut to his left side that would be very sore for a long time, but his life was not in any sort of danger. Cursing a bit, he moved to Ulric.

"You can say 'I told you so' now,"he told him.

The wolf only wheezed in reply. Concerned, Galian bent down and inspected the stab wound. It bled freely, and Ulric made a sucking sound as he tried to breathe. It was as Galian feared; the blade had pierced Ulric's lungs.

"We've got to get you to a centaur immediately."

"No,"Ulric replied, speaking in a forced tone as if it were difficult to speak, "we've got to get the package to Anvard, before we're attacked again."

"You won't make it to Archenland,"Galian said fearfully.

"Of course I will make it,"Ulric said, trying to stand, blood dropping as he arose, "But it does not matter if I do or not. That package means the end of us all, Galian. You must get it to safety."

Galian looked from his saddlebags, where the package was hidden, to his injured friend. Ulric had already risked so much for Galian. Galian had no intention of leaving him here to die.

He pulled the prisoner off of Dancer, and cut the ropes that bound him, "Leave, before I change my mind,"he ordered him.

"You soft, weak man,"the man spat, standing, "do you really believe locks and safes will stop the Sorcerer? Do you really believe that he will not search the highest mountain, the deepest river, or the most barren and desolate of places if it means recovering that spell book? He will stop at nothing, Sir Galian, and he will kill everyone who comes between him and his goal."

Galian's sword jumped out before the man could avoid it. He fell to the ground, waiting for death, but it did not come. He stood and felt the sticky blood on his burning right cheek. It was a nasty cut, but more than likely not fatal.

"Give that to your Sorcerer,"Galian spat in his own vicious voice. The man stumbled away, and Galian, with more strength than he knew he had, lifted up a fainting Ulric and put him before himself in the seat, and together, the two started as quickly as they could for Anvard.

They were a sight to see, rushing through the crowded streets, a wolf sitting before a dirty, bloodied knight. Upon entering the courtyard, Galian called for a centaur. Ulric was still breathing, but it came in labored gasps. He was quickly fainting. He was carried to the medical room, and Galian, without any further ado, took the brown parcel out of his saddlebags and raced into the castle. He met Elisud upon entering, who surveyed him with puzzlement.

"What the devil have you been up to?"

"Take me to the Queen. Now!"

Elisud knew his friend well, and could sense this was not the time to ask questions, though there were many on his mind. Hastily, the pair walked through the corridors and up several flights of stairs, to Queen Eleytheria's personal office. She was in a meeting with an important-looking man from Galma, and they looked up with bewilderment and surprise as a battle-worn Galian entered.

"Your highness, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've something very important to discuss with you."

The man stood, muttering, "Can't it wait?" but the Queen took one look at Galian's state and gracefully dismissed the Galmian. As soon as he was gone, she asked, "What is it?"

Galian explained all he could without mentioning the spell book and map outright. Queen Eleytheria, however, was not going to let him use her without an explanation.

"What is in this package, Galian, that makes the Serpens Russus want to kill you?"

"I'm afraid I cannot say, your majesty."

"You do not know?"

"I do know. But, your majesty, Ulric and I found it best to tell no one what it was."

She eyed him suspiciously, and he grew increasingly uncomfortable, "Your highness, we have reason to believe that in this package is a tool that if, having fallen into the wrong hands, it could mean the end of Narnia and Archenland. If word of the exact properties of this tool were to get around, even the most virtuous man would be captivated by its power."

The Queen back into her chair, pressing her fingertips together, "So you do not believe me capable of keeping a secret?"

Galian flushed, "No, your highness, it is absolutely improbable that you should do anything to jeopardize Archenland. However, there are some who could very well be spies. If word, even word you thought to be spoken in the dark hours of the night, were to spread, your very life would be in danger, and the lives of all who knew."

"So you are protecting me, then?"she asked, in a rather patronized tone.

Galian sighed, slightly impatient, "Your highness, I set out from my home this morning with the greatest attempt at secrecy I could devise. I and my companion were attacked before we even reached Archenland. They knew exactly where I was going, and I'm sure they knew what I had. The spies are everywhere, your highness. No one is safe. Right now, only one other knows of the properties of this package. And he is in the infirmary right now, fighting for his life. In short, your majesty, everyone who knows either dies, or is on the side of the Sorcerer. It is for your safety, and the safety of Archenland, that the contents of the package remain unknown."

Queen Eleytheria was motionless during and after this speech, her expression unreadable.

"Your highness,"he said quickly, "do you trust my judgement?"

She regarded him for a moment, then said, almost reluctantly, "Yes. I do."

"Will you trust me now when I say this is the worst weapon to ever endanger the lives of Archenlanders and Narnians alike? And will you trust my advice that it should be thrown into the deepest, darkest, most hidden safe in Anvard?"

She gave an annoyed sigh, and said, "Alright. I do trust you, Galian. If you say this is dangerous, I will keep it locked away."

"And secret?"

"And secret."

She took the package from Galian, led him through the side door into one room and out the side door of another, through three rooms, before they reached her personal office, located beside her bedroom. She lifted a loose stone in the floor, and under that stone was a safe. Galian looked politely away (besides fearing for his life should he be suspected of trying to interpret the safe's combination) as the Queen entered the combination and the door of the safe swung open with a creak. She placed the brown package inside the safe. When all had been locked and replaced, she stood, and asked Galian, "If you think this Sorcerer is all knowing and so very informed, how do we know he does not know of that safe? Or the combination?"

"We can't know,"Galian replied, "We can only hope he doesn't."

They left the office, neither saying anything more. Indeed, Galian might have been too exhausted by this time to make small talk. As they walked, Eleytheria glanced curiously at the mass of blood on Galian's left side.

"Were you wounded?"she asked.

In his haste, and the importance of the situation, Galian had quite forgotten his injury, "Oh, yes, I suppose I was. Only a scratch,"he added, "I suppose I've become quite accustomed to piercing blades."

"All the same, you should have that looked at. It would not do for the best swordsman in the north to die of an infection."

"I shall. My friend is currently being attended to by the physicians. I was going that way anyway."

He was bitterly tired and the long walk to the other side of the castle, where the infirmary was located, did not help matters much, but as he neared, newfound anxiety gave him strength. Ulric was alright, he admonished himself. He had to be.

Aoife and Elisud were waiting outside, Aoife sitting in a chair with her head in her hands, and Elisud was pacing to and fro.

"How's Ulric? Is he alright?"Galian asked them.

Elisud and Aoife exchanged glances before Aoife stood and took Galian by the hands, "I'm so sorry, Galian. He's dead."

Galian felt himself go numb. He looked into the tearful eyes of Aoife, expecting to see doubt, or perhaps that she was jesting, even if it was the worst sort of one.

"No..."Galian said, shaking his head and backing away from her, "No. He can't be dead."

"Oh, Galian,"she sobbed, and fell into his shoulder. He was too stunned to hold her, too stunned to even move. Tears filled his eyes, but he managed to keep them from falling. No, it was a lie. Ulric wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. Ulric was hardy, steadfast, it took more than a poke in the chest to stop him. No, it wasn't true. It wasn't fair. After all Ulric had sacrificed...he spent months on end away from his family at Galian's request, he stayed so long down in that horrid, smelly room searching painstakingly for the spell book, had nearly sold his life helping Galian defeat those murderous anarchists. After all he had done, why should death be his reward?

Elisud had not looked at either of them since Galian arrived. He had not known Ulric personally, but still there was a grieved, almost sick look on his face. He saw Galian staring at him, and said softly, "Do you realize what this means?"

Aoife looked up as Galian shook his head. Elisud answered, "It means the Queen will now finally realize the threat in the west. It means that she will soon ask me to muster the army. It means we shall soon have to go to war. And it means that construction for your castle will be delayed indefinitely."

P.S. As you can tell, I'm much better at capturing emotions than I am at capturing action. I hope the fight scene wasn't too badly done. Review, please!


	9. Chapter 9

I'm sorry it's taken so long. Unfortunately having the ambition to be a Registered Nurse means you have to spend hours on end studying bones and tissues and whatnot. It's been an outrageously stressful few weeks for me. I'll try not to neglect my story if at all possible, but after Chapter 10 be prepared for some moderate intervals between chapters. I hope I don't loose you all as reviewers.

Also, I suddenly realized I made a rather embarrassing mistake. I, who call myself C.S. Lewis reincarnate, who claims to know anything and everything there is to know about Narnia, have made a crucial mistake. In my stories I've tried to be as original as possible regarding naming my characters. Naming dwarves has particularly given me trouble. I thought I was being original when I named Griffle, but apparently that named had lodged itself in my subconscious after having read The Last Battle. In the LB, Griffle is the dwarf who was freed by Tirian from the Calormenes and who later renounced Aslan. I suppose I should clarify right now that they're not supposed to be the same person. It was just a gross error on my part.

Alrighty, enough chit chat.

Disclaimer: Yeah, right...

Chapter 9

The western mountains of Archenland are by far the most desolate of places in the world. They were absolutely massive, the tallest in the world, and constantly cold winds blew down from their peaks, causing the foolish travelers that came that way to shiver uncontrollably, even during the summer. To pass through them was a feat unaccomplished throughout Archenland's history, unless one were to go through the Telmarine pass. They yielded no vegetation save for the hardy evergreens that had the ability to take root in the rockiest of soils. Even dwarves tended to stay away from this region, though the more mining-savvy of them admired the high mountains for the quality of the stone it provided.

Without a doubt, no one would ever dare travel that way, unless they were either brave or idiotic. Which is why we might be surprised to find a lone horseman waiting just above the tree line, the day after Ulric's death. It was early morning, the sky still black though, a bit of gray was beginning to show in the east. Archenland was destined to have a very cold day, and now, before the sun had risen, and in the shadow of the mountain, the atmosphere was absolutely frosty, and a normal man would barely be able to contain it. But this rider was no ordinary man. He sat atop a large, blacker-than-black horse, with a long, shaggy mane and tail and its breath pouring from it's nostrils in wisps of steam. It pawed the ground out of impatience and to keep itself warm, and it wasn't until its master bent low and whispered threats into its ear did it stop.

The horseman, we can gather, was not a tolerable sort of man. His normal attire was hidden under the heavy black cloak he wore, which had an attached hood pulled so close around his head that only his very white chin was visible. It was very eerie to see streams of breath come from a black hole, and I suppose it was this man's aim to look as eerie and frightening as possible.

Finally, he heard the sound of hurried hoofbeats not far away. Soon, a small, ill-cared for, brown horse came into view, carrying a equally small rider. He was not dressed nearly as warm, and as he stopped to bow before his master, his lips were already beginning to turn blue.

"You're late,"the dark figure rasped angrily.

"I-I-I-I'm s-sorry, O M-Mighty Sorcerer,"the man stuttered, from the cold or from fear, we can't know for sure.

"Where is the spell book?"the Sorcerer asked.

"It-it's in Anvard, O Powerful One."

Quicker than thought, the Sorcerer's arm shot down, his fingers quickly grasping the ill-fated man's throat. The man could be heard gasping for air as he was lifted up, his master's fingers tightening around his windpipe.

"How incompetent are you,"came a evil, grinding voice, "that you cannot defeat two fighters?"

The man, of course, was unable to answer, and only choked out a sob, "Understand, because of your foolishness, obtaining the spell book will be more difficult than ever. That spell book is the key to our success. Perhaps that is not what you want, you maggot-ridden filth? Perhaps you want to see me fall? DO YOU?"

This last bit was shouted, echoing across the land. As best he could, the tearful, choking man shook his head. Deciding his sport with the man was over, the Sorcerer dropped him on the ground. As the man coughed and sputtered and tried to catch his breath, his master said to himself, "And yet, Sir Galian has proved to be a most difficult sort of obstacles. Fortune has been very good to him these past few months..."

"He is strong, O Mighty One,"the servant choked out "He has the favor of Aslan."

"What did you say?"the Sorcerer growled, the name of his worst enemy jerking him out of his thoughts.

"N-Nothing, my lord."

"What have we discussed, you stupid man?"

"That Aslan does not exist. He is a fairy tale."

"And I?"

"You are powerful and worshipful."

"Correct. Perhaps you are not as foolish as some may think. Now, pay attention. I have a different task for you and your men now. Lord Faolan of Archenland will be doing a bit of traveling for the next few weeks. I want you to take twenty of your _best_ fighters, none of those languid, half-witted farmers you call soldiers, and capture him."

"The High Inquisitor, your worshipfulness?"

"Yes. He knows secrets that could destroy Archenland in the event he relays them to the wrong person, _which he will_. And he more than likely knows of the package."

"But, O Wise One, he is protected by Sir Galian..."

The Sorcerer said nothing for a moment, and was so still the other man was afraid to move. Finally, he heard his master whisper softly, "Leave him to me."

Galian awoke hours later, heavy hearted and sore. The pain in his side was searing. The centaur had given him a special powder he was to mix with water and apply to the affected area four times a day. Galian's entire abdomen was a blackish purple bruise, and the cut was deep and red-black and very horrible looking. He could not attempt too much physical activity at once, for it would throb painfully in protest. He didn't have to worry about that today, though. Ulric's death had nearly taken the life out of him as well. His heart felt empty, his world incomplete without his friend.

The funeral was around midday. Aoife and Galian were the only humans to attend. The rest were talking beasts, particularly wolves from Ulric's own pack. Before this group sat a great she-wolf, crying great wolf tears, and five cubs barely four months old, their fur still brown and fluffy. They didn't seem to know what was going on. They sat at the feet of their mother, looking confused. They were Ulric's cubs, and the she-wolf was their mother, his wife. The sight of the cubs tore at Galian's heart. The poor things, they did not realize their father was gone.

He joined the line of mourners to offer the widow their condolences. Upon seeing Galian, she nearly growled, and coldly turned her back. Others, Aoife included, were quite surprised at the reaction, but Galian was not. Ulric's wife blamed Galian for her husband's death. So did Galian.

To Aoife's concern, he disappeared after the service. He didn't go far, just to the wood a few yards from Anvard. The coldness of the day had driven most of everyone to indoor duties, so this normally populated forest was deserted. It was all the better for Galian. He wanted nothing more than to be alone, to sit and cry in peace, to berate himself for not taking better care of Ulric without Aoife constantly telling him it was not his fault. He just wanted to mourn alone, and he did.

An hour later, he went back into the castle, only because the cold had seeped through his heavy wool cloak and was now unbearable. Aoife was waiting in his quarters, and a look of relief passed over her face as she saw him enter. Her relieved face soon turned to a look of rebuke.

"Where on earth have you been?"

"I wanted to be alone,"he said, quietly, all the fight taken out of him. Aoife quickly regretted her burst of outrage. As Galian sat, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, consoling him as best she could.

"It's all my fault,"he finally said in a deflated voice.

"That's ridiculous!"Aoife cried, forgetting that she was admonishing him once more, "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's the truth!"he burst out, rising from his chair and walking to the window, "I-I should have taken better care of him. I shouldn't have left him to fight those two by himself."

"Galian, for heaven's sake, Ulric was a soldier, just like you. He's fought his share of battles. He knew the risks just as well as you do, maybe even better. You could just as easily been killed too,"she added, her voice breaking a little at the thought.

"Yesterday morning,"Galian stopped, forcing back tears, "yesterday morning, he kept talking of a bad feeling he had. Like he knew what was going to happen."

"Animals seem to have that sixth sense. Wolves in particular."

"I didn't listen to him. I always spoke of bad feelings I had, and always begged people to believe them. But I paid no attention to his. I was selfish."

"You absolutely were not!"she said, walking to him and taking his hand, "You were thinking of your home, and the people who worked for you. You weren't willing to risk their lives. That doesn't make you selfish at all. You've got to remember, the Serpens Russus killed Ulric, not you. It is the enemy's fault, not yours."

As she wrapped her arms around his waist, mindful of his wound, Pericles came into the room. He was less that pleased to see Aoife's arms around Galian, and barked irritably, "Faolan wants to see you, Galian. _Immediately_."

Galian nodded and left the room, Pericles glaring at him the entire way out. He had just turned to follow when he so happened to glance at Aoife, and was surprised to see her angry glare.

"What's wrong?"he asked.

"You could show a bit more compassion,"she said with a measure of disgust.

"And you could show a bit more propriety,"he shot back.

"Pericles, he just lost a dear friend. He needs a little comforting."

"No, he needs to realize that not everything relies on him. He's selfish and overly heroic, Aoife, and he's risking the lives of others for his own glory."

"That's not true! You know it's not true!"she cried, "Galian wants nothing more than a peaceful life."

Pericles laughed dryly, "Galian? A peaceful life? I find it rather hard to believe that being targeted by anarchists is just something that happened by chance. I think he's become so addicted to the attention and the glory that he's started to go about looking for trouble. And now he's brought it upon all of us."

"Pericles, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life!"she nearly screamed. In a calmer voice, she stated, "I think you're jealous of him. Jealous because he just so happens to find himself in extraordinary situations and somehow manages to come out alive."

He looked as if she had just slapped him across the face, "Jealous? Jealous of what?"he said loudly, his voice breaking and high pitched, "Of an ill-bred, war hungry brat like him? A false flatterer who probably spends his days _looking_ for men to fight, all because he knows it impresses you."

And finally the ulterior motive was revealed, the real reason Pericles was so angry, "Is that what you're worried about? Galian trying to win me over?"

He grew very red faced, and he was breathing heavily, "What are your feelings toward him? Tell me the truth."

"I've told you time and time again..."

"You've told me you love _me_, Aoife. But you've never directly answered my question. Do you love Galian?"

Aoife was trapped, unable to keep the truth from Pericles any longer. She thought of all the things she might say to him, words that could somehow set the situation right. But she couldn't. She didn't understand why she could not explain to Pericles how she could be so in love with two very different men.

Her silence, however, was enough to answer his question, "I see."

She looked sheepishly and sadly at him, at his warm, dark eyes, his handsome though rather thin face, the stubbled hair that grew around his lip and chin. She still felt her heart glow every time he looked at her. She still felt her heart yearn for him when he was not around. She felt safer with him than she did anyone else.

Which begged the question, did she want the safety Pericles could offer her, or a life with Galian that was sure to never be still or dull, a life of drastic uncertainty and unimaginable excitement?

"Pericles, I've been so very unfair to you,"she said, keeping her tears at bay. Pericles would not look at her as she continued, "It's true, what you say. I do have certain feelings for Galian. It's not something I can't help, I'm afraid. But I can't help it that I love you as well. As hard as this may be for you, it's all that much more difficult for me to have to choose between two very wonderful men."

He bit his lip, and looked at her apologetically. He'd never wanted to put her in any sort of difficult position, not where he was concerned. He never wanted to make her life harder than it already might have been. And yet he absolutely would never give up the fight for her.

"Pericles, I know I've made you wait so long, but grant me a request. This castle is going to take up much of my time for the next few years. I'll have very little time for romance between now and until it is finished. Please, just give me until then to make my decision. Will you wait that long?"

Pericles sighed. It wasn't the most ideal of choices, and the fact that she needed so long to think it over discouraged him. But, as mentioned before, he was not ready to give up the fight, and told her, "Of course. Of course I'll wait for you."

Meanwhile, Galian was having a very interesting conversation with the noble Lord Faolan in the latter's apartments. Elisud had told the cabinet of the conspiracy theory earlier that morning; more than anything to prevent more Archenlanders from being killed. It had been received very warmly, and it had been decided in the end that Lord Faolan would conduct an investigation into the matter as soon as possible.

The already pessimistic Galian exclaimed, after Faolan had told him all of this, "An investigation, my lord? That might take weeks, even months. By then, the Serpens Russus might have already acted."

"I understand your concern, Sir Galian, but this is a matter with which we need to take extreme caution. If we were to make accusations against Calormen, and they proved to be false, it could damage the fragile diplomatic ties we have with them."

"Yes, my lord, but meanwhile, shouldn't we launch a counterattack against the Serpens Russus? Shouldn't we destroy them before they kill more of our countrymen?"

"_Destroy_ is a rather harsh word, my friend,"Faolan commented, shocked, "but in any event, I strongly advised the Queen that we take care of problems within our borders before we even think of attacking anyone to the west."

"You're referring to..."

"Anarchists within our midst. From what I gather, these are quite ordinary looking men, and might blend in very nicely with our people. Before anything, we must root out these spies."

"All the same, shouldn't we protect the borders?"

"If that is your concern, you should take it up with Lord Aidian or Lord Elisud. They are our protectors, after all."

"I shall, my lord,"he said, then added, with a bit more spirit, "My lord, there is some worry regarding the discontinuation of the construction of the castle on the southern border."

Faolan smiled, "Not to worry. That issue came up in the agenda as well. It required a bit of pushing on my part, but the cabinet agreed to allow construction to continue."

"I wish it were not so, my lord."

Faolan was incredibly surprised at the response, "But...I thought you were devoted heart and soul to the construction, and to your friend Aoife."

"I am, my lord. Very much devoted. But if we're to fight against a very large enemy such as the Serpens Russus, we will need all the manpower and resources we can gather. The castle will take much of that away from Archenland."

"I understand your point, Sir Galian, but you see, we believe the greater threat, Calormen, lies to the south. And as your Lady Aoife so wisely pointed out, we have no defensive structure in the south. We should address that problem first and foremost."

"And what of the threat to the west?"

"The mountains are virtually unpassable. Lord Elisud and I conversed on this earlier, and we agreed that a garrison should be sent to the Telmarine Pass and that should be the end of it. Our biggest concern as yet will be to complete construction of Diarko Pygros. Speaking of which, it has come to my attention that I have neglected my promised duties very shamefully. Unfortunately my duties have kept me at my home in Stormness Head (but you know about that), but I say to you now that I shall no longer ignore that which I have promised to do. The day after tomorrow, you, Lady Aoife, and I shall travel to anywhere necessary to gather workers and resources to assist in our worthy cause."

"That is more than generous, my lord."

"Yes. In fact, to ease our search a bit, I pledge twenty men from Stormness Head. They are great miners and stone wrights, almost as good as dwarves, and should assist you greatly."

This newfound generosity sparked a very suspicious thought in Galian's head. He wasn't so sure he wanted twenty of Lord Faolan's men as workers. In fact, he was more than positive he did not want those men anywhere near his construction site.

"My lord, if they are skilled craftsmen, they may ask for higher pay, a luxury we cannot afford to give them."

"Nonsense. With the daily wage they would earn building the castle, it would be sort of a pay raise for them."

"You're severely underpaying your miners then, aren't you, my lord?"Galian asked with a hint of reproach.

"They are paid very well, thank you, not that it is any of your concern,"Faolan replied, just as angry, "and I do not appreciate your tone, Sir Galian. Remember to whom it is you speak."

Even if he was an ass, he was right. Dishonoring a nobleman was a very serious crime. "I apologize, my lord,"Galian said very sulkily, and both he and Faolan knew he didn't mean it.

"Galian, you are a very good soldier. I think you have the potential to be a great lord or leader. But you have to remember your place. Right now, I am your master. And you shall do as I command."

"Very well. What do you ask of me?"

"I want to know what it was you were carrying yesterday that made the Serpens Russus want to kill you and that wolf."

Galian stiffened slightly, but his face remained imperturbable, "I'm sure I do not know what you are talking about."

"Galian, I'm not a foolish man. Men as well led as the Serpens Russus do not attack soldiers at random, no matter how important or skilled they may be. You were attacked far, far away from the Western Wild, where they are thought to be situated, and far from the south, from the Calormenes. They would have had to very cautiously sneak into Narnia or Archenland and wait very quietly and patiently to intercept you. They would not go through the trouble had you not had something very important they wanted."

It was hard to argue with his logic, "Very well, my lord. I did indeed have a package they might have wanted."

"And what was in that package?"

"Only one other knows that my lord. He is now dead."

"I understand your concern, Sir Galian. However, I am the High Inquisitor of Archenland. In order to make the best decisions to protect Archenland, I have to know any and all secrets she may keep."

"My lord, it is a very dangerous weapon that should be kept very safe. Is that not enough for you?"

"You're disrespecting again,"Faolan said dangerously.

"I am protecting you, my lord, as is my duty. Knowledge of this weapon could endanger your life. It has already endangered mine, as well as taken the life of my friend."

Faolan sat back, regarding Galian suspiciously, "At any other more normal time, withholding information like this would be considered treason."

"I am merely doing what I think is best for Archenland. As are you."

Faolan, having had quite enough, rose to leave, "One more thing, my lord,"Galian's voice followed him, "since you make it your business to know everything, you should know that I now have learned the relative location and size of three camps consisting of the Serpens Russus. I shall relay the coordinates to yourself and Lord Elisud at a later time. Make what decision you will."


	10. Chapter 10

Yes, yes I know. How horrible I am to make you guys wait so long. I should be hanged! Drawn and quartered! Scourged! Be forced to read Mary Sues all day long! The horror!

On a Serious note, thanks to my reviewers especially those who stuck with me this long. I apologize for the delay. Trying to write Chapter 10 was like running into a brick wall, and a bad case of writer's block didn't help matters at all. But I think I have it squared away. Suggestions and criticism, as always, are welcome.

Disclaimer: Must I?

Chapter 10

Things began to fall apart for Archenland a few weeks after Ulric's death. An attack was launched by the Serpens Russus on several large, western farms, one of which had pledged food for the workers of Diarko Pygros. Town militias were immediately called out, and Elisud was gone for weeks, taking a small guard to protect the Telmarine Pass, the only entrance into Archenland from the west. And yet, though no enemy ever got past Elisud's guard, small raids were still being carried out here and there, in different parts of Archenland. One day someone might be captured and killed, a farm might burn the next. Whole families were disappearing, turning up a few days later, nearly cut to pieces. Lord Aidan, the man chiefly in charge of Archenland's internal defense (meaning he prosecuted criminals and things like that), was under a good deal of pressure. He called for what was left of the town militias and began a vicarious hunt for the anarchists. Unfortunately for he, anarchists do not all wear the same face, and nearly half of the people he captured were as innocent as they claimed. Marshal law was imposed in Archenland, and everyone lived in absolute terror, either of being arrested by their own government or of the men who were out to destroy their country.

Our castle-building heros waited anxiously for word from Queen Eleytheria as to whether or not they might be able proceed with construction in the spring. Amongst the other problems in Archenland, money was a definite factor, and questions had been raised as to whether or not Archenland could afford to build a new castle _and_ support an army during wartime, for it seemed that war was just on the horizon. Lord Faolan, sticking to his promise of assisting in any way he could, had argued with the council for three days straight, reminding them of all the benefits of a southern stronghold. Surprisingly, his most vehement opponent was Elisud.

They all sat in Aoife's quarters now; Galian, Lord Sawyl, Pericles, and of course, Aoife, waiting for word from the council. Pericles and Aoife were the more impatient ones; they paced the length of the room time and time again, nervously wringing their hands and constantly glaring at the clock in the corner. Galian and Lord Sawyl sat on the window seat, shivering from the cold that managed to leak in through the window, Sawyl remarking every now and again what a beautiful night it was, with the stars shining so silver and the moon at her full. Galian agreed without really realizing what he was agreeing to. He daren't tell Aoife, but more than anything he wanted the plans to be discontinued, and soon, before it came time to break ground. He felt that at this point, the enemy they needed to deal with the most was the Serpens Russus, though he still suspected the Calormenes of having a hand in the entire mess. His only reservation was that Griffle might be horribly offended, and his was a friendship they could not afford to lose.

Faolan burst in quite suddenly, and the look on his face told everyone that the meeting had not ended in their favor.

"They've gone with Elisud's proposal. All the money that might be used for the castle will go to the army, to the blatantly sickening and unjust imprisoning of Archenlanders."

Pericles fell into a chair, bewildered, while Aoife ranted, "But how could they? When they agreed not four months ago the importance of this castle outweighed the expense?"

"Apparently they feel that any sort of barbaric action is better than any sort of planning for future events,"Faolan said dryly, helping himself to some wine that sat in the middle of the table, "You'd think the Queen would have listened to someone whose knowledge of things like this is unparalleled, but..."and he drank all the wine in one swig.

Lord Sawyl had been silent through all this, but finally said, in his deep voice, "Well, my dear friends, perhaps luck shall favor us in the future. Farewell."

"Wha...you're just giving up?"Aoife asked, rounding on him.

"My dear,"he said, taking her hand and kissing it, "it has been a true privilege assisting you. I tell you now I truly believe in Diarko Pygros, all the good it could do for Archenland, and more. But alas, I serve the Queen of Archenland, and if she is for war, than I must be for war also. Farewell."

Aoife and Faolan continued to vent for the next few minutes. Pericles followed Faolan's lead, taking deep gulps of wine and every now and again throwing in a word of agreement. Galian had not moved from the window seat, and was now wondering how he would tell Griffle he would no longer need his masons, and later how he would tell Aoife that he was going with the army.

Everyone grew silent, and when he looked up Galian saw why. Elisud had entered the room, still in battle dress, for he had to leave immediately (yes, in the middle of the night) for the Telmarine Pass.

"Don't give me those looks,"he said as he stopped in front of the group, "I did what I thought was best. And right now, what is best is to get rid of these anarchists before they infect everyone with their ideology."

"And how do we do that, Elisud,"Faolan said smartly, "by throwing innocent people into prison?"

Elisud flushed at these words, "Do not presume to lecture me about what you do not know, Faolan. By my blood and by my sweat I have done my best to preserve Archenland. Can you say that? Have you even left the gates of Anvard since Galian and Ulric were attacked?"

"Elisud, this is not about you and what you have done for Archenland, nor is it about Faolan and what he has done for Archenland," Aoife blurted angrily, "This is about saving our people, protecting them from evil. Now, tell me which proposal do you think might be better suited to such an aspiration; one in which towns are burned and blood is spilled no matter what action the army takes, or one that can prevent it all from happening?"

"We do not know for sure that Calormene is the enemy here."

"You fool, of course Calormene is the enemy. Calormene has always been the enemy."

"Elisud,"came Pericles's voice, a good deal much calmer than he probably felt, "where is the support you gave us months ago?"

"It died with the peasants, Captain,"Elisud replied bitterly.

"But we can save them. We can build another place where they might have a place for refuge and sanctuary. Don't you think so?"

"By the time Diarko Pygros is built, all of Archenland may already be destroyed."

"All the more reason to not delay construction in the least, don't you think?"

Elisud rolled his eyes, clearly seeing that he would never win the argument. He looked round the room, as if asking for help, and his eyes landed on Galian, "Tell them, Galian,"he said suddenly, and everyone turned to look to the young knight, "you know as well as I do, probably more, that we need to silence these anarchists."

Galian had prayed the argument would not fall to him, because he was sure Aoife would not like what he had to say in the least. Under her scathing glare, he stuttered, "I-I..uh...well..."

"Of course he would say the same as you,"Faolan spat, saving Galian from everyone's attention, "he's a warrior, just like you. You warriors have nothing on your mind but death and bloodshed."

Though he was very much on the great lord's side, Pericles turned suddenly round in his chair, shooting Faolan a glare that was only matched by those of Galian and Elisud. The latter growled, "Say what you will, my lord, but I have done what I thought was best, as I said before. If my sickening obsession with war and violence, as you say, save this country, then I shall have done my duty without regret,"and with those words, he stormed out of the room.

"What will we do now?"Aoife nearly cried, sinking into a chair in despair. Faolan began to pace the room, muttering harsh and undeserved expletives against Elisud. Galian still hadn't moved from his seat in the corner, wondering when would be the best time to slip away without drawing an attention to himself. He had just made up his mind to leave when Faolan stopped abruptly, crying out, "I have it!"

"What?"everyone asked at once.

"Do not fret, Aoife, you'll have your castle. And Archenland will have its safety. Oh, they shall be forever indebted to us, once they realize how important this castle is and how foolish they were to choose war over us."

"How, my lord?"Aoife asked, "how can we build a castle without Archenland's funds and materials?"

"Why, it's very simple. I shall pay for it all."

"But, my lord,"Aoife replied incredulously, "How can you do such a thing? We all know your wealth is unequaled amongst all the noblemen in Archenland, and perhaps the entire north, but I cannot imagine how you would be able to afford the construction of what is already becoming a very expensive stronghold."

"Actually, with my assistance, I believe construction will cost much less. We'll use stone from my quarry. Galian was already planning to visit the giants, weren't you?"still surprised, Galian nodded slightly, "if he can convince a good number of them to work for us, we'll be able to cut at least half our workforce, and the rest that do not accept the wages I shall pay them will be replaced by men from my own province. And with those excellent dwarves of Griffle's working for practically nothing, we have all the workers we shall need. It's perfect!"

"But my lord,"Aoife asked, still shocked, "are you sure..."

"I am more than positive, Aoife. Unlike Lord Elisud, I truly believe in this castle."

Aoife then did something quite surprising and rather galling on Pericles's and Galian's part; she ran to Faolan and gave him a great, warm hug, telling him over and over how wonderful he was and what a savior he was.

They all left after this, retiring for the evening, for tomorrow would be busier than they cared to imagine. All left, save for Galian. As Pericles and Faolan bade Aoife good night and left, he said lowly, "I don't think this is a good idea, Aoife. Not a good idea in the least."

"Oh, so now you have something to say?"Aoife spat, giving him the most harshest of glares she reserved for him when he had done something disappointing (which, unfortunately, seemed to be fairly often lately).

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"You didn't say a word before, Galian. Not a word in my defense. You just sat there, looking like a dazed fool, _not saying anything._"

"He caught me by surprise, is all."

"What about before then, Galian? Or after?"to which Galian had no reply. She stepped close to him, narrowing her eyes, "Just what were you going to say? Hmm? When Elisud asked you what you thought, what were you going to say? Were you even going to defend me?"

"First of all, to hear you talk before, this isn't supposed to be about you or me or Faolan or Elisud or anyone. This is about the castle, remember? This is about the people, isn't it? And second...Aoife, I'm sorry. I have to agree with Elisud. Maybe it does have something to do with the fact that I'm a fighter and that I think like a fighter. But the Serpens Russus have integrated with the common people of Archenland. There are so many poor, unfortunate fools out there that will believe anything anyone tells them. The Serpens Russus themselves are good examples. I just can't let Archenland and Narnia allow themselves to be taken over like that."

Aoife was breathing heavily, as if she had just gone on a good run, though truthfully she was breathing hard with anger. Her eyes filled with tears, and she said, "Fine! Go to your war! Kill as many fanatics as you please. But do not expect me to allow you back once the war is over. And do not expect me to cry if you die. You went back on your word, Galian. _Again._"

"Aoife, aren't you being..."

"No, I don't think I am. You betrayed me. Now get out!"

He hesitated. When he did, she cried, louder than before, "Go!"

Dejectedly, he left her room. He went to the kitchens, where he knew a fellow or two might have gathered for one last cup of wine before it was time to retire for the evening. Not surprisingly, he saw Elisud there. He sat beside his friend and poured himself a cup of strong ale. After a few moments, Elisud said, "I really am sorry about the castle. I really would have liked to see it built."

"You might get your wish,"Galian said darkly, and briefly told him of Faolan's plan.

"How absolutely perfect,"Elisud said sarcastically, "it's bad enough to hear him brag about the land he owns already. Now he'll have control over another structure."

"Do you think he might have some ulterior motive?"

Elisud rolled his eyes, taking a great gulp of ale, "Not tonight, Galian,"he said shortly, "I'm in a very foul mood and don't have the patience to argue with you about something I've told you time and time again is absolute rubbish."

"Think about it..."

"I'm done thinking,"Elisud said, standing abruptly, "I've been thinking all day and I'm done,"he made to leave, then turned and said, in just as angry a voice, "Can I expect your sword? Or shall you take the more pleasurable route; running about obediently at your true love's beck and call?"and before Galian could retort, he left.

He finished his wine and started toward his room, walking as speedily as he could lest he run into more bad luck. Unfortunately, Bad Luck caught up with him before he could reach his room, in the form of Lord Faolan.

"I hope you don't expect to go out with the army tomorrow,"Faolan said, in as bad temper as everyone else seemed to be that night.

"I had expected to do so, my lord,"Galian replied, a bit wearily. He had received quite a lot of rude comments that day, without just cause he thought, and his tolerance had just about reached its level.

"You forget your duties. I employed you to protect me. Remember?"

"Yes, my lord, but in light of recent events..."

"In light of recent events, I think now I shall need protection more than ever, especially now that this detestable clan has recruited some of the rustics to do their bidding."

Galian let the rustic remark slide for the moment, instead saying, "But, my lord, if the cabinet determines that driving out the Serpens Russus required military force, should I not be amongst the soldiers, as that is really what I am best at."

"You are at your best when you are killing, Galian?"Faolan asked, eyebrows raised.

"I am best when I am defending, my lord,"came the reply, respectful yet warning.

"But you shall be defending. You shall be defending me."

He turned to walk away, considering the matter closed, saying in parting, "We shall meet in my quarters tomorrow morning after breakfast. If you are not inclined to help plan, then you shall be there as my bodyguard."

"My lord,"Galian called as he walked away, "you know that no one else worries more about your safety than I. But do you not agree that common bodyguard duty is a waste of my time and talents?"

Faolan gave a dry laugh, and a biting answer, "And there it is. Sir Galian, the most humble knight to grace Anvard's halls, feels himself to important for bodyguard work."

Galian flushed, "My lord..."

"No, no, perhaps you're right. Perhaps you are too important. I suppose I should just let you go join the fighting then, leaving myself unsuitably protected, endangering Archenland's future, just because you cannot swallow your pride and do something a little less exciting. No, Sir Galian, you shall be in my quarters precisely after breakfast. Or else."

"Or else what?"Galian challenged.

Faolan turned round, a devious smile on his face, "I think you know what else, Galian."

And so, though it was much against his wishes, he did arrive punctually at Faolan's quarters early the next morning. Aoife and Faolan both refused to give him a second glance, and the only one who acknowledged his presence was, oddly enough, Pericles, though his recognition of Galian's presence did not go much beyond scathing glares. At any rate, he, Aoife, and Faolan worked out a great many of the details, or at least they put ideas to paper. Much of it relied on Faolan and what he was willing to commit to the project, though he assured them that his workers would have no qualms about working in southern Archenland, nor would his miners have any trouble transporting the stone from quarry to construction site. The only uncertain detail was that of the giants. Lord Faolan promised to take care of that minor problem, and decided that he and Galian would leave within the week.

It had been a long day, and everyone trudged out of the room wearily. Aoife and Galian were the last two to leave. She permitted him to walk her to her room, though the silence was awkward and strained. As they reached her door, she told him, "I really didn't mean it when I said I wouldn't care if you died."

"I know,"he said simply, glad at least that they were speaking.

"I am still angry about you going back on your word."

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"I'm not a fool, Galian. When Faolan releases you from his service, you'll join Elisud on the battlefront. Won't you?"

Galian didn't answer, very much assuring himself that he would join the battle. She nodded resentfully, "I thought as much. You've still gone back on your word. That is a very hard crime to forgive,"and she slammed the door in his face.

Between herself and Elisud, who seemed to no longer be angry with him but still avoided him when possible, Galian was glad to leave a week later, even if he had to endure the company of a man like Faolan. The great lord insisted that in addition to Galian's protection, a small guard go with them, a small guard that Archenland could not really afford to spare at the moment. The day they left, a small brawl broke out in a village a few miles away from Anvard, though it was not between Serpens Russus and soldiers, but between farmers who supported either one or the other. It took the local militia a long time to respond, because their resources were scattered elsewhere, and by the time all was said and done, three men were dead.

The ride to the northernmost section of Narnia, where the giants lived, was inconsequential save for the few peasants that stopped what they were doing to either bow to the passing lords or else shout insults with fists raised, all this occurring before they reached the Narnian Pass. There was one particularly frightening altercation in which some roadside workers actually tried to stone the small detachment as they rode past, and only Galian's severely harsh threats kept two of the soldiers from riding back and killing them all (though they can hardly be blamed; they had been forced to deal with such a thing for quite a while now).

"You are soldiers whose duty it is to protect the common Archenlander,"Galian told them, "it would be dishonorable to attack those who cannot defend themselves as you can."

Once they reached the Narnian Pass, things calmed down a great deal. The Narnians were as yet unaffected by the threat of anarchy, and the ride through Narnia was inconsequential. Within a week, they reached the giants' land.

Galian's reputation preceded him. The giants, who didn't know much about statistical information regarding how many Archenlanders lived as slaves in Calormen, nor did they care much to hear about poor, unfortunate Calormenes who knew nothing of a free society but instead had to live their lives in the grip of an uncaring upper class. What they did know was that if Sir Galian claimed that a castle on the southern border was vital to the survival of Archenland, that it truly must be so. Therefore, they pledged at least three grown giants, and six child-giants. While this may not sound like much, bear in mind that one giant can do the work of three hundred men, and we can assume that the children could do half as much. Their assistance would speed construction along greatly.

They spent the night in a tavern, then started home the next day, Lord Faolan evidently not wanting to waste any time. As before, the ride through Narnia was uneventful. It was after they crossed the pass into Archenland that they ran into trouble.

It was as if they had known the detachment was coming, and had all aligned themselves at the proper place at the proper time. As the soldiers topped the first ridge, they saw below them a group of no less than thirty peasants, armed with rocks and farm tools and all sorts of primitive weapons.

"What the devil..."Faolan swore.

"What do we do sir?"one of the soldiers asked Galian.

Galian had been wondering the exact same thing. There were only ten in his group, four centaurs and the rest men. Looking around at them, he pointed to two of the centaurs, "You two...if it so happens that we have to fight our way through this crowd, which I pray does not happen, you two take Lord Faolan and go back to Narnia. Send help if you can. The rest of you, do not, under any circumstances, attack. Defend and disarm if you can, but avoid killing when possible. Do not be the first to attack. Be on your guard, but do not attack. These people do not know what they do. They are as much so victims to the Serpens Russus as we are. Don't hurt them."

They rode towards the gathering. Once the peasants saw them coming, they began to raise an ungodly din of curses and threats. At this point, the two centaurs in charge of Faolan stopped short with the great lord. As he neared, Galian asked (having to do so several times to be heard above the racket), "What is the meaning of all this?"

They quieted enough for one to reply, "We're here because we're sick and tired of being taken advantage of. We're here because we want to be treated like men and not as the Queen's own personal chess set."

A great many people shouted in agreement, and when they grew quiet enough Galian called, "And who says you're being taken advantage of? I'd very much like to know. Because you know damn well that's not true."

"Isn't it, my lord?"the same man asked, "Then why are we forced build castles we want nothing to do with or fight in battles that have nothing to do with us?"

"I don't know much about being forced to build a castle,"Galian cried, quickly shooting a glare back towards the road Faolan had taken, wondering if the too powerful lord had anything to do with it, "no one is making you participate in that. But you ought to want to fight, if it means protecting your land and your family and your Queen."

This might have been the wrong thing to say, for the head speaker was no longer able to make himself heard, for voice rang out angrily, saying things like, "The monarchy is the enemy!" and "We don't want to defend a tyrant!" or else "We do not fight for a government that takes advantage of us!"

Without warning, a stone flew from the crowd and hit one soldier in the face. Seemingly a hundred more came from the crowd. Luckily, Galian and the rest were well protected enough from sticks and stones, but they were in danger of being overrun by the crowd. Those that had spears were striking peasants with the butt ends of them, the rest were warding them off with the flats of their swords. One or two of them lost their heads and every now and then accidently stabbed out, leaving one poor fool lying in a puddle of his own blood, thus enraging the rioters more. Presently, Galian had to call for a retreat, and they did, to the top of the ridge, where Faolan and the two centaurs stood, thankfully unscathed, the former looking at the entire scene with disgust.

"You are all trained soldiers!"he yelled as they neared, "And you cannot defend yourself against a band of ignorant farmers?"

"Even the best warrior can fall if he's outnumbered, my lord,"a centaur answered before Galian was able to. A bit shortly, he told Faolan, "My lord, we cannot possibly push through this riot. We have to go back to Narnia, and wait until it's safe."

"No. We can take the long way round to Stormness Head. From there we can gather a larger unit of soldiers and get to Anvard and alert the Queen of the situation."

"For one, I'm sure Queen Eleytheria is quite aware of the situation,"Galian snapped, "and also, I must most respectfully disagree with your lordship's proposal. We have to get to safety as quickly as possible, and Narnia is our closest haven."

"Galian, I am not going to allow myself to be badgered by a band of ill-bred rustics,"Faolan shouted, "We'll go to Stormness Head. That is my order."

Rolling his eyes, Galian waited until the majority of the protestors had gotten tired and gone away, then led the group through the thick flora on the little known road to Stormness Head. It was little known because most of it was partially hidden, and you wouldn't know about it unless you had traveled it several times, as Faolan had. Also, the path was extremely rocky, and not well cleared, as trees and great boulders lay in the way, as well as mounds of dirt that hadn't been beaten into the ground like those on a more traveled pathway. It was a difficult road to take, and it took twice as long, the main reason it wasn't so popular, but at the moment, it was heaven-sent, and late into the evening they reached Faolan's manor.

They stayed a few days, allowing the peasants time to calm down, and giving Faolan time to sort out the business about the stone quarry and the workers that would be needed for construction and things of that sort that he pledged to the castle. They left two weeks later, this time with more soldiers, all of whom dressed in full battle gear (from Faolan's own armory). Galian stuck close to Faolan, not taking any chances. As they rode, Faolan said, "Galian, the Serpens Russus didn't begin attacking until after Christmas, until after you brought that package to Anvard."

Galian shifted in his saddle, not daring to look at Faolan, "And you think one has to do with the other, my lord?"

Faolan rolled his eyes, "Galian, I'm tired of playing these games with you. Any man can see that of course one has to do with the other. Whatever it is, can't we just use it for bartering? Perhaps persuade the Serpens Russus to leave if we give them the package?"

"My lord,"Galian said impatiently, "I brought the package to Anvard for a reason. I brought it because I felt that it needed to be in a safe place, _away_ from the anarchists."

"Yes, well, of course I wouldn't know that,"came Faolan's biting answer, "as I do not know enough about the package to make an educated guess."

"My lord, again you must trust me when I say that the last thing this country needs is for that package to fall into the wrong hands."

"How can I trust someone..."but he was silenced immediately, for just then Galian had pushed him off his horse and onto the ground, to avoid the torrent of arrows that had come flying at them from all directions.

From what he could see as he peered from underneath his shield, a large group of green-tunic wearing men had surrounded them on both sides of the canyon, and were shooting at Galian's guard with effortless speed and accuracy. There was nothing he could do as he watched as soldier after soldier fall. They were being picked off one by one, and there seemed to be an unending supply of arrows. These were no ordinary clansmen, Galian realized. These were the elite, the true backbone of the Serpens Russus, the reason they were all so feared. They were true warriors.

Eventually, though, they did run out of arrows, and began their assault on the few soldiers who had survived the slaughter. Roughly, Galian picked up Faolan by his tunic, who had stayed on the ground the entire time, and threw the lord roughly into a small crevice, the best defensive structure Galian could find.

"Stay there!"Galian ordered, and wheeled round to face a large, black bearded man with one eye. He met his death as Galian's sword punctured through the chain mail and drove into his stomach. The next fell as his exposed left hand accidently flew out into Galian's reach, and this man fell to the ground in horror as his disembodied hand lay turning white on the ground.

The next man was more fortunate. This man was bigger than the first, and his parries were much more powerful. He managed to knock Galian's sword away, and with a punch from his hand that felt as though it had tons of stone behind it, a hard blow fell to Galian's still tender left side.

He fell to the ground in agony, vomiting a little and trying his hardest to not faint. Somewhere behind him he could hear Faolan calling for help. More out of instinct than anything else, Galian drew a dagger that had been dropped by one of the men he had killed, and plunged it into the assailant's calf. The man was only enraged, and turned to Galian and slashed and cut with his sword. Luckily, Galian's armor held fast, and the worst injury from this assault was a cut to the cheek. He rolled away from the big man's blows, catching up his sword as he did so. The man's more powerful blow broke Galian's sword in two just as he was delivering a stroke, but the big man made the mistake of hesitating after he swung, and with what was left of the sword was driven into the bad man's chest. This time, he fell and did not move again.

Galian was now weaponless. He tried to handle the big man's sword, but it was as heavy as it had looked, and he discarded it after nearly getting himself killed once or twice. He took up a lighter weapon that had been dropped, and resumed his fight, never taking more than a few steps away from the crevice where Faolan was hidden. The Serpens Russus seemed to grow fewer, thankfully, but Galian's soldiers also seemed to grow more tired. Only a dozen remained, out of the forty that had left Faolan's manor that morning. The ones that hadn't been shot down or died by the sword felt as though they were fighting a battle they couldn't win. It didn't seem as if the massacre would ever end.

And it didn't, not yet anyway, but it did slow down, as over the ridge, in the direction that Galian and the others had tried to take, now sat a blacker than black horse, as large as an elephant (or nearly), carrying a rider whose face was hidden by a large, black cloak.

"The Sorcerer,"someone whispered. Galian's teeth grinded, his fists clenched. He caught a horse that was passing by, mounted it, then called above the din, pointing his sword at the Sorcerer, "You and I! The battle will be decided between the two of us!"

In response, the Sorcerer drew his own sword, and time seemed to halt as the two started towards each other. When their swords met, everyone really did stop and turn as the two fought it out. After taking a hard blow, Galian fell off his horse. The Sorcerer charged down on Galian, who ducked and cut the saddle of the horse, and the Sorcerer rolled off, quite winded but not beaten. He was fast, and powerful, and Galian wasn't sure if it was his sword, one he was unused to, or if he had finally met his match. He seemed to predict Galian's movements before he made them, and it was only just in the nick of time that Galian ever blocked an attack. He was beginning to reverberate back to his slave fighting days, when he fought on pure instinct, when the best he could do was deliver a blow and pray it hit its mark. His former wild style of fighting was beginning to come back to him, and he noticed with surprise that it was working to his advantage. Then it hit him; the Sorcerer was fighting like a nobleman!

Galian was able to utilize this knowledge, and just as the Sorcerer was beginning to think he had the upper hand, Galian struck his wrist, and the Sorcerer's sword went flying. Delivering a hard knock with his free hand, Galian sent the evil man sprawling, and he landed on the canyon wall. Holding the blade close to the fiend's neck, he ordered, "Tell them to surrender. Now!"

"Throw down your weapons!"the evil, fearful voice cried. His men obeyed, and as soon as it was safe, Faolan came running from his hiding spot. He arrived just as Galian whisked the hood off the mystery enemy. The face was dark, not as dark as a Calormene's, and the hair was brown. Whiskers grew in patches across his face, and thick eyebrows sat above dark, loathing eyes, eyes that cast curses on the man who now waved his sword in his evil face.

"Kill him, Galian,"Faolan spat, his voice belonging to one who wanted vengeance, "cut off his head. He's a murderer, Galian. He deserves a much worse fate than that."

Galian studied the face carefully, then replied, "No. I don't think I shall."

"Galian, are you a fool! This is the man who is responsible for all the death Archenland has encountered this past month. This is the man who is responsible for that wolf's death. He is a danger to society as long as he lives. Kill him, Galian."

Galian turned round, "My lord, I would like nothing more than to be the one to look into the Sorcerer's eyes as he dies by my hand."

"Then why do you hesitate?"

"Because, my lord,"Galian said, facing the attacker once again, "this man isn't the Sorcerer."


	11. Chapter 11

Sorry again. School is almost over, so God willing I'll be able to write more often. I apologize again.

Thank you readers who stick with me despite long delays.

Chapter 11

The temperatures dropped severely that afternoon, driving all would-be protestors indoors, allowing Galian and the rest safe passage to Anvard. The prisoners were all dressed in red, so if they escaped they would stand out more so than if they wore anything else, and were surrounded by a fierce looking guard who probably had lost friends or loved ones to the ambush and were not at all silent about their wishes to run every last one of the bloody traitors through.

As for Galian, the trip was just short of torture. With every movement of his borrowed horse, the wound in his side seared painfully, and more than once he stopped on the side of the road to vomit. He was having trouble focusing his eyes, and his head burned, assuring him he had a fever. However, when he rode by soldiers or prisoners, he did his best to look as if nothing bothered him. He kept a particularly close eye on the fake Sorcerer, a man by the name of Prochorus. Prochorus only glared about with hatred unmatched, openly hissing curses at the guards who surrounded him now, and might have gotten the entire rabble started had Galian not dealt him a sharp punch and told them all to keep quiet. For the rest of the journey, during which the prisoners were forced to walk, Prochorus kept his eyes, with a gaze so intense you felt as if they were capable of burning holes in the backs of his captors, directed forward. Galian was incredibly curious as to what was going on in the man's head, then eventually decided he probably didn't want to know.

They reached Anvard without event, and Galian very much wanted to be there when Faolan and Lord Aidan questioned Prochorus, but as luck would have it, he fainted just as he stepped into the stables. He came to an hour later, feeling absolutely horrible and dimly aware of someone dabbing his forehead with a cool, sweet smelling liquid. He tried to open his eyes but the room spun so he closed them immediately for feeling nauseous. A gruff but kindly voice said, "Rest, Sir Galian. Everything is being seen to. For now, you must rest."

Meanwhile, Lord Faolan, Lord Aidan, and Elisud had taken it upon themselves to interview Prochorus to learn what they could, not an easy task, to say the least. Prochorus was bound body and soul to his Sorcerer, and previous attempts to pry information out of him were fruitless. It was decided then that Faolan, who knew how to get information out of a man better than anyone, would ask the questions.

However, as he and the other two entered the interrogation room (which was nothing more than a large room with a chair in the middle, in which the prisoner sat in shackles), Prochorus burst, "Vermin of Anvard, I have a message for you, from my most divine Master. He demands that you immediately give Archenland to him, that you take up arms and attack your brethren the Narnians, and acknowledge him as a Supreme and most Worshipful ruler, lest you all die slow, painful deaths. For the Sorcerer knows no mercy. He will have your children nailed to every tree in the land; he will have your women tortured before your very eyes for the sake of his own sport. And for every warrior that has killed one of his followers, he will have them burned alive and cut to pieces until even the wild animals, who feed on flesh, abhor the stench that shall hang in the atmosphere over Archenland for generations to come."

At this, an angry Aidan, whose face had become nearly as red as his beard, stormed upon the prisoner, and struck him with such a blow that it sent Prochorus and the chair flying across the room together. While Elisud restrained the insulted lord to prevent him from doing any further harm, Faolan strolled lazily over to where the prisoner lay, knelt down beside him, and whispered in a voice as smooth as poisoned honey, "Do you really think we fear your Sorcerer? Nay, he should fear us. He should fear _me_."

With this, he roughly picked up a surprised Prochorus by the scruff of his neck, and placed him back in the chair. Facing him again, Faolan said in a clear voice, "Tell me about your Master. What is he like? What sort of powers does he have?"

The evil, knowing smirk reappeared on Prochorus's face, and he proclaimed, "I shall tell you, savage lord, but only because my Master has instructed me to do so, otherwise I would die a thousand deaths rather than betray my Master. He wants you to know his plans. He wants you to try and stop him. He claims it's better sport.

My Master's powers exceed all others; he has powers even the most knowledgeable warlock cannot comprehend. He sees all and knows all. He hears the counsels of Cair Paravel, the secrets told in Anvard, the plots developed in Tashbaan, and hears them all at once, and has the power to influence any of these decisions as it pleases him. His wrath is slow and terrible, he does not abide the failure of his followers, and will deal with them accordingly if he finds out. And he always finds out."

"That's all well and good,"Aidan piped up from the corner, "but you haven't mentioned what we should fear from him, save for the bit about the magical spying or whatever you call it."

Faolan rolled his eyes at the lord's crude description, but nevertheless turned to Prochorus and stated, "He is right, however foolish he may be. He performs several cute little magic tricks, but what magic can he perform that we should fear?"

Prochorus's smile increased, "You foolish man. My Master has many 'magic tricks' as you call them, the least of which would make your stomach turn. He has incantations capable of destroying fifty men. He has powder capable of causing a fire that would burn every bit of Archenland to the ground. And if he had not those and other destructive powers, he would send out his army, seven times the population of Archenland."

From the corner, Elisud's eyes grew large and his heart sank. Faolan too sounded a bit nervous when he asked, "An army? Where?"

"Hidden, deep within the safety of the Western Wild,"Prochorus hissed, "hundreds of thousands of us. Anarchists and savages, Calormenes and the wild men of Ettinsmoor, my people, who live despite the lingering danger of the ignorant and violent giants. Giants _your _Queen and King Rilian have refused to shelter us from!"

Aidan was about to make a sharp defending remark on his Queen's part, but Elisud silenced him, sharply asking Prochorus "Did you say Calormenes?"

Prochorus smirked, "Surprised, are you? Yes, the Tisroc has long been in the Sorcerer's favor, and has agreed to produce any specified number of troops the Might Sorcerer should choose to call for."

"What does your Sorcerer have,"Faolan asked, "that the Tisroc would sell his kingdom for?"

"I have told you. He had _power_. The Tisroc was wise enough to see this, to hand his kingdom over to the Sorcerer to use as he sees necessary. The Tisroc was wise enough. Are you not?"

For the moment, Faolan had learned all he needed to know. He called for guards to lead Prochorus to his cell. Elisud, meanwhile, sank into the chair once occupied by Prochorus, head in hands.

Faolan rolled his eyes at the other man's distress, and said condescendingly, "For goodness' sake, stand up. You are our military leader, Elisud, you are supposed to be strong of heart!"

Elisud did stand up, and enraged look on his face, "Did you not hear him? If he is not lying, we could be facing an army of hundreds of thousands! There isn't an army in the world that could contend with that!"

"Has it occurred to you that he might be bluffing? He certainly must be bluffing,"Faolan said with certainty, "There is no army in the world that large. And the Tisroc would never dare to make an allegiance with a radical man like this Sorcerer. If Narnia ever found out, they would sever ties with Calormen. Trade all over the world would suffer. No, the Tisroc may hate Narnia with a glowing passion, but he is not fool enough, surely."

Frustrated, Elisud replied, "My lord, you make it your business to know every move of every man in Calormen, Archenland, or Narnia. I, on the other hand, make it my business to fight for the north. You once admonished me for not being prepared. You were right, and I shall not make that mistake again. Until we are proven wrong, we _must_ assume Calormen is fighting for the Sorcerer. We _must _assume a great army is arising in the west, one that could destroy us all. And now, bearing all that in mind, how do we stop them?"

Faolan didn't answer, not just yet anyway. Then an idea dawned on him. Without addressing Elisud, he flew from the room, to the cell that contained Prochorus. As the baffled prisoner looked up at his new visitor, Faolan barked, "A few months ago some friends of your attacked Sir Galian and his companion. They wanted the package he was carrying. Since then, Archenland has been under siege by your master's forces. Why? What was in that package?"

Prochorus grinned maliciously, and spoke mightily, "And who are you that I should relate the most secret of my Master's plans?"

Faolan drew a sharp dagger from what seemed to be out of nowhere, and pressed it to Prochorus's throat, as Elisud appeared at the door, curious. Threateningly, Faolan told the prisoner, "I am the man who holds your pitiful life in his hands."

Prochorus openly laughed, "Kill me,"he challenged, "as I said before, I would die a thousand deaths for my Master."

"I never said,"Faolan stated, with an evil grin of his own, "that it would be at _our_ hands. We're much too civilized a people to kill a prisoner who has helped us so greatly. No, I was thinking of handing you back to your Sorcerer, and let you die by his hands."

"Fool! My master would never harm me!"the other man exclaimed, though they could hear the jingling of the chains that still bound him as he shook.

"Wouldn't he? He'll be very disappointed, I think, when he learns you had failed your attack. He wouldn't like it at all if he found you were captured by the very man whom you were supposed to capture. And I don't suspect he's a man who forgives very easily. Isn't that what you've been telling us?"

Prochorus made no effort to hide his fear now, but muttered in terror, "No. No. If you are a gentleman at all, you will not ask me to betray my master. Whether you openly hand him over to me, or whether you keep me in your cell, still will he find me, and his wrath will be terrible, and my death slow."

"Alright, then, let's make a bargain. If you tell me what I want to know, I will not hand you back to him. If you tell me, then I will have you swiftly and painlessly killed, which is more than your deserve given your slaughter of innocent Archenlanders and the brave soldiers that defend them."

Prochorus seemed to battle with indecision for a few moments, then whispered, "They were looking for a spell book. A spell book said to have the most diabolical of enchantments, and produce the most hideous of results. My master has been searching for it many a year. It disappeared long ago, and until Christmas, no one knew of its whereabouts. They say Sir Galian found it in a secret room in his home, amongst other spell books. Men were sent out to take it from him, but the cursed man bested them. It is now somewhere in Anvard, that is all we know."

Unknowingly, Faolan has lowered his blade from Prochorus's neck, and said in an awestruck voice, "You mean to tell me that all this time, that spell book has been within Sir Galian's possession?"

"Yes, lord."

Faolan stood, cursing Galian roundly. At his feet, Prochorus whimpered, "My lord...your promise..."

Faolan glared down at him, his eyes flashing, and raised the dagger. Elisud leapt from the door, and said, "No, my lord! You can't possibly follow through. He's a prisoner! By law he has certain rights and protection!"

In response, Faolan roughly threw him off, in one fluid motion, the blade sliced across Prochorus's neck. The man was dead seconds later.

Elisud was beside himself with rage, "You...you monster! Are you a nobleman at all?"

Stepping close to him, Faolan replied, "A monster, am I? Perhaps you're right. But I am a monster who will sacrifice nothing to gain the knowledge I need to keep Archenland intact. Won't you do the same..._Lord_ Elisud?"

And without another word, he stormed out of the cell, barking at the men at arms to dispose of a recently deceased body. He did not stop to explain, for there was a certain person he needed to see. A certain person who knew something about the whereabouts of a very important "package."

Unfortunately, he would have to wait some time, for Galian remained barely conscious for the next several days. Rainwood, sensing Faolan's desire to have an audience with Galian would bring his patient nothing but distress, therefore closed off the medical ward to nearly everyone.

If he had been awake to thank him, Galian certainly would have. The last thing he needed was what little strength he had to leave him, and strength probably would have if he had been forced to meet visitors, Faolan least of all. He hadn't eaten since the initial stabbing, and survived off the tasteless nutrients Rainwood put in his water. His stomach, when he had first been brought in, was black and swollen, and bandages soaked in water mixed with willow bark helped to decrease the inflammation and pain, but still it did not completely go away. At least his head had stopped swimming and aching, and were it not for his nausea, Galian might have been up and about.

Meanwhile, Faolan was hell-bent to see him, to question him about the spell book. He went directly to the Queen herself, demanding to see the package. When she refused, he demanded she force Rainwood to let him in to see Galian, so he could ask the sick man himself. Rainwood was summoned, and told the Queen in no uncertain terms that he would _not_ let the great lord in, that Galian was in a fragile state and needed his rest. The Queen upheld Rainwood's decision, but to pacify Faolan, told him that in a month's time Galian should be well enough to see visitors, and he would be allowed on condition that he said or did nothing that would further endanger the young knight's health.

It was a most stressful month for everyone, Galian included. Elisud was constantly battling rebels in the west, and while he was able to time and time again trap them within the mountain pass and dispose of the enemy efficiently, the anarchists seemed to have an unlimited amount of fighters, further increasing Elisud's suspicions of an enemy army of tens of thousands. Meanwhile, Queen Eleytheria and the rest of the council were working to quell the peasants, who still felt angry and betrayed by their government. While riots did not occur on a daily basis, they still sprung up in scattered places all over the country, quite to the frustration of the guards, who would think they had suppressed a riot in one section of Archenland, ride to another to calm those peasants, only to have to ride back to the first spot to put down another riot. Pericles, when he was not traveling with these guards, was helping Aoife put the finishing touches on the construction process. Queen Eleytheria, upon hearing the unofficial rumor from Faolan that the Calormenes might have been involved in all of this, granted her permission to build Diarko Pygros, but would still be forced to do so without Archenland's aid. Faolan still promised much of his great fortune to the project, but was as yet unavailable to assist, for he was now busy dispersing spies and infiltrators to various parts of the world to learn what they could, and anything else that might help the army destroy the Serpens Russus and their master, and every night he counted the days until he might be allowed to see Galian and ask him about the package he had kept hidden from his lord.

Galian was getting much stronger by the day, flourishing under the tender, devoted care of Rainwood. He was upset to hear Archenland was still in turmoil, and doubly irritated that there was nothing he could do about it. Rainwood was a wonderful healer and was very good about relating to Galian what news he could, and yet he, like most centaurs, was grave and thoughtful, and not the best conversationalist a person could ask for. He yearned for his friends (even Pericles), and was slightly perturbed that none of them had stopped by to see him, and he had to keep reminding himself that they had more important things to attend to, that Archenland could not endure their absence just because he was lonely.

Finally, the terrible month ended. The riots were becoming more sparse, though the was a constant grumbling heard from most of everyone, soldiers included. Spring was just a few weeks away, and those they would not be fighting on the front would be fighting to keep their crops and livestock alive, in spite of the common elements farmers and ranchers faced, as well as in spite of the enemy, who would no doubt steal into Archenland and try to destroy their lands. After a few days of breathing space, Faolan approached the Queen, and proposed that the annual Spring Festival be thrown near the construction site. His hopes were to give the project more positive publicity, and what better way to do such than to throw a festival on the actual site, where people could see for themselves the dangers of an unprotected south. Besides, there was not a human or beast in Archenland that did not deserve a celebration and party of some sort. The Queen agreed.

Faolan was quite ready to plan for the event, but at the first of the month, he tackled one of the more important issues he had to deal with: Galian.

Galian was sitting up in his bed when Faolan arrived. Rainwood had warned him the great lord was determined to see him about something important, and Galian had a fleeting suspicion what it might be. Therefore, he was not surprised to see the flashing glare in Faolan's eyes as he burst through the door and ordered Rainwood to leave. He stood at the foot of Galian's bed, arms crossed, and Galian could tell he was shaking with anger.

"Well?"Galian asked.

"Don't sit there as if you didn't know the reason for my coming here,"Faolan spat, "you know what I want to know."

"I'm not a mind reader, my lord. Have you come to pay me a visit? I have been rather starved for company this past month..."

He was interrupted by Faolan's enraged outburst, "The spell book! The spell book, Galian!" When Galian didn't answer, he raved, "Prochorus...the man we captured...he told me why those men attacked you and that wolf that day. He told me the Sorcerer was prepared to spend as much of his time and resources to get that spell book. That's why innocent Archenlanders are dying, Galian! Because of the spell book _you_ found necessary to place in Anvard's halls!"

"What else could I do with it, my lord? If it remained where I found it, there was a very good chance the Serpens Russus would find it. They were already following me and intercepting my mail, I am sure they would have located the book if I had left it there. I would have dearly loved to have tied it to a rock and dropped it into the deepest, darkest lake I could find, were I not afraid the Sorcerer might find it there, too. The safest place for it was in Anvard or Cair Paravel, under lock and key, in an unlabeled package."

"Galian, don't you see? Even a soldier like you, who has no knowledge of anything magical, should have known that this was a very powerful weapon. You should have known it was something the Sorcerer would sell his army for."

"I did know that, my lord,"Galian replied, insulted at Faolan's insulting his intelligence.

"You knew that?"Faolan cried, more outraged, "and you did not see it fit to tell me? Galian, did it ever occur to you that there might be something in that book we can use? Some spell or incantation we can deploy against the Sorcerer's army?"

"Even if it had occurred to me, there is no force on this earth that would urge me to do so. That book is evil, my lord. Evil made it, and evil will come of it."

"Thus you display your ignorance, Sir Galian,"Faolan shot, "despite all, you are a simple soldier. And to simple soldiers such as yourself or Lord Elisud, all magic is to be feared, all magic is evil. How can you believe something so intolerable? Was not your guardian, Domus, a magician himself?"

Galian stood quickly, ignoring the protests in his side, ready to deny the bigotry he had been accused of. But as Faolan finished, a new question formed in his mind, "How did you know..."

"That's just it, Sir Galian. I know everything. And I know that in order to defeat this army, be it an army of two hundred or two hundred thousand, we will need that book. I demand to know where it is."

Three days later, Galian, supported by Rainwood, and Faolan stood before Queen Eleytheria. Faolan had explained smugly that Galian had told him of the package, and requested that the Queen might allow him to view such a magical masterpiece as this one. The Queen debated on the idea time and time again, but eventually relented, and returned in a few moments with the brown paper package in her hand.

Faolan was nearly shaking with glee as he tore the paper apart, and stared at the simple leather cover. Turning it over, he engrossed himself the passages and illustrations for several long minutes. Indeed, the Queen herself, who had only seen the book's disguise in the packaging, was intrigued, and joined in Faolan's awestruck handling of the pages, as though they were more precious than gold.

"Now that you've seen it,"Galian interrupted, annoyed and wondering why they were not repulsed by the depictions of the results of those who had tried out the spells, "do you not agree that this is not a weapon we can use? Even if any one of us did have the power necessary, which I'm sure none of us do, would you not agree that those spells are too horrifying to use?"

The Queen snapped out of her reverie, glared at the page, and at once agreed the book was too brutal to put into use. Faolan immediately protested, "Your Majesty, please! This book contains power unlimited, power Sir Galian is mistaken about when he claims there are none who know how to wield it. Your Majesty, if indeed there is a force in the west greater than any we have ever seen, you know we cannot defeat it with merely swords and spears. I mean no disrespect to Lord Elisud,"he added, seeing that the Queen's husband gave him a rather ugly glare, "but how long can his army hold? Archenland is in disrepair, the people do not support the soldiers. What good is a soldier if his countrymen do not favor him? The army needs what assistance it can use. We can use this, my Queen. This, and any other spell books Sir Galian has been withholding,"he added, glaring at said knight.

The Queen looked uncertain, and called to Lord Eoghan, telling the others that they would retreat to a more private location to discuss the possibility of using the spell book. As he did so, however, Rainwood called to her. Bowing so that Galian, who was leaning against him for additional support, nearly slipped and fell, he cried, "Your Majesty, it is not my place to contradict what your wise cabinet members decide is necessary for Archenland's survival. Keep in mind, Your Majesty, that I am a star-gazer, that I read the planets that spell out the future of this great world, be the future in our favor or not. And I say to you now, no good will come of that book. Sir Galian is right. It is an evil book, written by evil minds with evil intent. Your Majesty should use any and every means necessary to ensure that it is destroyed. If you doubt my skill, find three more centaurs you find more creditable. Their answers will echo mine."

The Queen did so, and all three centaurs agreed with Rainwood, that the spell book was dangerous, and should never be put to use under any circumstances, for doing so would bring about the wrath of Aslan. Queen Eleytheria explained to a seething Faolan that she could not ignore the advise of such knowledgeable men, and placed the spell book in the package from which it had lain for so long. Swearing that she and Lord Eoghan themselves would tie a stone to it and drop it into the ocean themselves, where no man nor beast could find it, she and her husband left the room.

Galian sighed with relief, thankful that he would not have to see the results of the horrors the spell book would bring. Faolan, on the other hand, was still furious. Passing by Galian, he hissed, "As of now, you are no longer employed under my service. Go and play in the dirt on your farm, if that is your wish. I no longer care."

He turned to storm out, then turned and said, "I am sending some of my men to your house. They will take the other spell books. If they arrive and find the books have been burned, or if you resist in anyway, I'll make sure you and every worker on your farm is killed. Understand?"

It had never been clearer in Galian's life.

"You've kept it in our room all along?"

Eoghan was addressing his wife, watching as she loosened the stone on the floor where she hid the most valuable of artifacts that should fit. For the longest time during their marriage, he himself had not known the secret compartment existed. When he did find out, he respected her wishes and left it be. It disturbed him now to know this vile object had been there for months now.

"Sir Galian asked me to keep it safe and secret. I trust his judgement. Don't you?"

"I suppose. He's been right thus far..."Eoghan paused, rising from his seat on their bed, pacing about a little, "something about that young man piques my curiosity, I must say."

"What?"

"First of all, he's frightfully lucky, don't you think?"

"I attributed it to skill, rather."

"I don't mean that. I mean isn't it rather strange he found the book in his home?"

Eleytheria joined him on his walk, "Now that you mention it, it is an interesting coincidence,"she paused, then asked delicately, "you don't believe he has anything to do with the resistance?"

"Absolutely not,"Eoghan reassured her, "I was thinking otherwise. Galian manages to find himself at the wrong places at the right times. We're incredibly blessed that he found the spell book before the enemy did. He's very fortunate he's survived all he's been through. In cases like his, men possess more than luck. They are protected by providence. They have the favor of Aslan. I honestly do believe that the outcome of this entire mess will fall to Galian and the Sorcerer."

The last statement hung heavily in the air. The Queen embraced her husband, allowing the feelings of fright and insecurity she repressed during the long day to resurface, as she only did in the privacy of her bedroom, with her husband by her side.

"It's a horrible destiny for him. He may be a superb fighter, but still, he is so young."

Eoghan embraced his wife gently, comforting her, saying softly, "If Aslan has found favor with him, than he shall prevail. If not, Aslan will deliver him. Either way, it is in Aslan's care now."

There was a gentle tap at the door. Eoghan answered. Another riot had sprung up in the east, and Lords Elisud and Aidian were indisposed. Eoghan left to suppress the riot himself, not before leaving his wife with a loving kiss goodbye. With a life like his, it was never certain that the last kiss they shared would be the very last one forever.

She watched him leave, thinking she would be completely lost were it not for his judgement. She time and time again wondered that he did not challenge the rule that he could not be king.

The spell book was on their bed, still in its packaging. She stared at it for long minutes, then carefully untied the string that bound it, and lifted it out of the paper. On the outside, it was really a very ordinary looking volume. There was no writing on it, and the leather on it was pulled away in some places. She opened it, and the trance she had experience in the meeting room held her again. Yes, it was horrible what had happened to the people who spoke those spells, long ago. She would never dream of subjecting her people to this books' consequences. And yet, the book was written so _well_. The words of the incantations seemed to flow smoothly, like the water of a mountain stream. Aneirin's terrified account, however, brought her back to earth. She shook her head, wondering guiltily how she could allow herself to become so taken with the book. She picked it up, placed it back in the package, and was about to retie the string, but stopped. On her night stand was a large volume of poetry someone had given her. It wasn't very good poetry, really, mostly full of Calormene maxims and sayings. It was about the same size and shape as the spell book...

Once again, the simpleness, the great secrets the cover hid, beckoned to the Queen. Really, she reasoned with herself, she couldn't destroy it. What if a time came when she would need it for bargaining with? It never occurred to her that the spell book was not one to be used as a bargaining chip. It did not occur to her that she had given her word to have it destroyed. She did not recall Galian's or the centaurs' warnings. She only thought about what a shame it would be for such a intriguing work of writing to be sent to the bottom of the ocean, destined to swim about with the creatures of the sea who would have no idea as to what they were seeing...

She wasn't thinking at all, really. If she had been, she would have realized the danger in her actions. But she wasn't. She placed the book of poetry inside the paper package, tied the string, and placed it under her pillow, where she had promised her husband she would keep it until the disposed of it. Then, she moved to her hiding spot in the floor, pried the stone loose, and, after one last, lustful glance, place it inside.


	12. Chapter 12

I apologize if the headline offended anybody...wait...no I'm not...come on, people, incest! Excuse me while I hurl. Has it occurred to anyone that brothers and sisters who sleep together unavoidably have the most ignorant kids in the world? Don't believe me? Look at the ancient Egyptians...the only good pharaohs they had were the ones that didn't marry siblings...

Not bad for a ass-backwards country girl, don't you think? (I had a bad day at work, can anyone tell?)

Anyway, I apologize for the two month hiatus. I had some serious writer's block like you wouldn't believe. The thing that motivated me most to get this up was the pure disgust at all the Peter stories and incest fics. Jack himself said it best when he said "People won't write the stories I want, so I have to do it myself." At least, I think Jack said that...

Anywho, enough of this b.s. Here goes the long overdue Chapter 12...

Disclaimer: I could say I own Narnia...then again I really don't want to get sued...so the C.S. Lewis people own it...

In memory of Dusty.

Chapter 12

Construction was finally underway. Aoife, though she had been planning for months, nay, years, had no idea the amount of detail that would be involved in a project such as this. Everything, from the workers' shoes to the harnesses for the poor mules that pulled the stone had to be accounted for. Were it not for Lord Faolan, she could not have managed it all by herself.

They had held the festival not a mile away from the construction site, at Faolan's suggestion, but the day had not gone at all as planned. The day before, the lone inn in southern Archenland was burnt to the ground, killing sixteen, including the innkeeper, his wife, and their two small children. Etched in a nearby tree was a model of a snake. The day of the festival, a man set fire to the tent that stored the wine, and a massive explosion ensued, killing at least thirty. Luckily, Pericles and his men had been on hand to arrest the man, who would only say he had been acting under the Sorcerer's orders. Further efforts to coax any information out of him were useless, and Lords Aidan and Faolan resolved to try again the next day, only to find the prisoner had chewed through his wrists during the night, thus ending his own life.

Archenland was shaken by the attacks. Really, it was Pericles's valiant effort to subdue the intruder that convinced most of the population that the Archenlandian government was really doing all it could to stop the anarchy, and they rallied around their Queen once more. There were a select few, however, who chose to believe the monarchy was still exploiting the general population, and settled in an encampment close to the construction site, begging fellow peasants to not give in to the oppressors, and reject the castle-building. Their pleas fell on deaf ears.

Still, try as hard as she might, Aoife couldn't keep tension from her own camp, though she stressed time and time again to everyone that it was important to show a strong front, especially when the nobility came snooping around. However, there was open contempt shared by many, particularly from the dwarves, who despised not only the mostly human guard designated to patrol the site, but also the Calormene traitor who commanded it. The guards, in return, loathed the dwarves for their snobbery, for their high-and-mighty attitude. The leader of this guild of craftsmen, a Lord Brokk (though he was only styled a lord amongst his own people; such a title had not been granted by King Rilian as was custom) labored under the delusion that he had supreme authority even over Lord Faolan, and bucked nearly all of Aoife's decisions, even if they were in the best interest of everyone involved, or even if they involved safety issues, such as the nighttime curfew levied on all workers (to ensure that none wandered off and were harmed by enemies). More than once, Brokk accused Pericles and his men of deliberately targeting the dwarves for certain crimes. The last of these accusations prompted a fierce shouting match between Brokk and Pericles, who was rightfully angry that he should be accused of racism.

After the argument, the dwarves began to pack their belongings in a hurry, each one grumbling under his breath at the sheer outrageousness of the matter, each swearing that their Lord Griffle would have nothing to do with these braggarts when he heard about the shameful manner in which his best masons had been treated. Aoife stood amongst the crowd of dwarves, trying her hardest to pacify them, assure them that they were not being targeted in any crime, and trying to stress the importance of the rules all at once. Pericles was by her side, positively livid but restraining himself from attacking, opting instead to stay by his beloved's side in case one of the dwarves should begin to develop any unwise notions of harming her. Faolan was currently in Stormness Head attending to business, and was not there to help Aoife control the riot.

"Does your ladyship really believe,"Brokk shouted above the din, and his kinsmen were quieted, "that we are the sort to be trifled with? Do you not know that our master has contacts in every major trade and province in Narnia? Do you really find yourself so foolish as to believe that he is not the most feared and respected dwarf that has ever lived, surpassing even his highness King Rilian in wealth? And do you really believe that he will allow his dwarves to be treated with such disrespect, to be ordered about like common beggar-brats and witless rustics?"

"Lady Aoife would never assume as much, Master Dwarf,"all turned, startled, to see Galian, standing tall and straight, completely cured of his ailments (or so it appeared). His gait was slow and deliberate, and Aoife saw him hide a grimace with each step he took, but his voice was unwavering as he spoke, "Lord Brokk, it was I that participated in the negotiations several months ago with Lord Griffle. We met then, you and I, and Lord Griffle asked you if you had any reservations about me or the project I supported. You claimed you did not. He asked if you had any reservations about working as a well-paid foreman, and you claimed to have no reservations against that either. You knew very well that Captain Pericles was in charge of the guard. You had heard of the rumors that dangerous men were out to destroy all we have worked so hard to gain. You knew all of this, so why do you complain now that you are treated in the very manner which you agreed to be treated? I tell you now, if you return to Lord Griffle with this tale of unfair treatment and disrespect, he will not be as sentimental towards you plight as you might imagine. You know this to be true."

Brokk only stood, chagrined, amongst his kinsmen. Galian continued, "If you will have it, I shall see to it that bundles of my tobacco will be shipped directly to you. You shall have the first of the crop at the harvest as soon as it is ready. In return, I only ask that you remember the promise you made to Griffle, and encourage your kinsmen to do the same. Agreed?"

Brokk could hear his fellow craftsmen nudging each other and whispering excitedly at the prospect of being the first to smoke the best tobacco in southern Narnia, and knew he couldn't decline. So, resentfully, he told them to unpack.

Aoife and Pericles did not address Galian until they reached Aoife's private tent. There wasn't much to it really, a table with blueprints and such piled chest-high, a bed and set of chests in one corner, and a table and three chairs in another. It was stuffy in the tent, but Galian accepted Aoife's invitation to sit. Tensions were high; the two had not sat together since that night long ago, when Aoife accused Galian of betrayal. He was a bit annoyed that she had not made the effort to visit him while he was hurt. She, on the other hand, was a bit incensed that he had only now decided to show when she had needed him so badly before.

Pericles, of all people, broke the silence, "So I supposed you've saved the day again?"

Galian's bitter glare darted from Aoife to the Captain, "And you felt your attempt at negotiations were going so well, Captain?"

"Why are you here, Galian?"Aoife spat.

"I have an obligation to fulfill, as I told you before,"he said simply.

"An obligation? Is that what you see it as?"she cried, restraining herself from jumping up, "So you've lied to me this entire time you claimed the castle was important to you? Just as..."

"The castle was important to me, Aoife,"Galian cut her off, "and I had every intention of seeing the thing through to the end."

"Then why did you oppose me when Elisud asked your opinion that night?"

"For heaven's sake, Aoife, open up your eyes. We were being attacked every other day. Serpens Russus were infiltrating the innocent people of Archenland, corrupting their minds and encouraging them to bring false accusations against the Queen. Those men needed to be eradicated immediately."

"And you feel they have been?"Pericles asked with a mocking tone, "is that why you've so suddenly decided to lend us your assistance? Or is it because your wounds are still not healed, preventing you from joining the heat of battle in the west but doing nothing to calm your impatience?"

Galian gave him a sour look, then pulled a book from the sack that sat limply by his side. A small, black leather bound book crashed to the table as he dropped it. Aoife and Pericles looked on with a mixture of curiosity and doubtfulness.

"This, my good friends,"Galian said, "was in the secret library in my home. I'm sure you've heard of this secret library from Faolan,"he added the last bit with a hint of dry humor, "Anyway, I was preparing to ship the entirety of the library to Faolan at his request, reading a bit as I went along, and stumbled across this. I don't suppose either of you have heard of the centaur Sunchaser?"

Aoife shook her head but Pericles pondered a moment before answering, "Is he not the centaur that prophesied that the White Witch's reign would end when two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve gained the thrones at Cair Paravel? And did he not correctly foretell that spring would return with Aslan?"

"Correct, O enlightened Captain. Sunchaser is, most rightfully, the greatest prophet Narnia has ever seen, or will see again. There were, and are, very few who posses the kind of foresight that Sunchaser possessed."

"This book is of this Sunchaser's making then?"Aoife asked.

"Not quite. This book was written by his son, Greystorm"(A/N: Cut me some slack, I'm doing the best I can...) "Greystorm was, to put it bluntly, unloved by his generation as his father had been. The tidings he bore told nothing of happiness and prosperity for Narnia, instead, he often spoke of danger and death. He became known as a bearer of bad news, and the interim ruler of Narnia (as this was after the Royal Four disappeared), began to refuse audience with him. You see, without its four monarchs, Narnia was in a bit of turmoil, and the acting ruler at the time refused to hear of anything that would confirm the state of his nation, the fool. Therefore, Greystorm became an unwelcome sight, not just at Cair Paravel, but in most of any other great Narnian city as well. So, he retreated to the mountains, and began writing down all he saw in this journal, in the hopes that one day someone would read it and would heed his advice."

Aoife and Pericles sat, trying to absorb the information given to them in this new tale. Pericles asked, "And do you have reason to believe there is advice in this journal that we should heed?"

In response, Galian pushed the book towards him. Aloud, Pericles read:

_The stars saith: And shall rise from the west a great monster, its head wielding the power of Charn. He will bring a nation to its knees, a monarchy to its end, and evil shall reign so long as this monster thrives. While wars are fought in the west, the monster will live amongst the Lion's Beloved. His Children shall only know victory when the Last Castle towers over the land. Upon its completion, the Lion's Beloved will see the evil depart, will see the head cut from the monster's body and thrown to the fiery pits from which it came._

Pericles placed the book back on the table, confused and, admittedly, a little afraid. Aoife

on the other hand, was not entirely convinced, "But who is this prophet that we should believe him, save that he is the son of an esteemed soothsayer?"

"These are not idle words of a young man trying to carrying on his father's legacy,"Galian explained, "Greystorm has proved right about much that has happened in recent history. He foresaw that barbarians from the west would take advantage of disorder and lawlessness in Narnia, and would hold the nation for at least nine generations. That was his first prophecy that was fulfilled. He also prophesied that the tenth generation would fight a war to return Narnia to its former glory. He then wrote that the only son of said king would disappear for ten years and be rescued by three persons, two not of this world. As you know, both of those prophecies came true as well..."

Aoife flipped though the journal herself, and found that the very words foretelling everything that had happened since the disappearance of the Royal Four had come true. Her face still wore a skeptical look, but a bewildered sort of skeptical. It wasn't that she didn't believe Galian anymore, alas, she felt she didn't want to.

"What do we do?"she asked in a rather dazed voice.

Galian answered, "I'll tell you what you do. You hire more workers. You simplify the plans so this castle is more like a fortress than a manor. Ornamental things can always be added later; we need a military outpost out here and we need it quick."

"The book doesn't say anything about a battle being fought here,"Pericles answered, "it only says the war shall end upon the castle's completion."

"Do you really think a war would be decided miles and miles away from the location that is prophesied to be where said war should be decided?"

"Perhaps not."

"Then it's settled,"Aoife stated matter of factly, "whether or not these words are the truth, I cannot deny that we need a fortress out here as soon as possible. I shall meet with Master Pedr,"Pedr was the chief architect, employed under Lord Faolan, a very skilled young man indeed, "and with Lord Faolan as soon as I can, to discuss the simplification of the blueprints."

She rose to leave, but Galian stopped her, asking as he stood, "Aoife, I know you're angry with me. But if I might remain..."

"Yes Galian,"she said without a moment's hesitation, quite forgetting she was upset with him, "Yes, I think it would be best if you did..."and ignoring the glare she received from Pericles, she left the tent.

Galian turned back to the table and Pericles, the latter of which having wiped the glare from his face momentarily. As Galian sat, he remarked, "Did you notice the prophecy didn't say anything about Calormen?"

"It didn't reveal much about locations,"Galian replied, "save that Charn was mentioned..."

"No, but it did say that wars would be fought in the west and the monster would live amongst our people. Nothing was mentioned about the south."

Galian hadn't noticed that before, and picked the book up to study the text a bit more. Biting his lip as he thought, he eventually replied, "And yet Aoife's fath...Suruv...told her that her that he was in league with the Sorcerer. As, I imagine, was Shameth. And didn't that prisoner tell Faolan and Elisud that the Tisroc himself was on friendly terms with the Sorcerer."

"Perhaps the Sorcerer might have seduced a few wealthy Tarkaans, more than anything to pay for his campaign. But a few of the wealthiest is not the entire population of Calormen, Galian. If in fact Suruv and Shameth had been working for him, they were doing so of their own accord. When I rode out with the guard to the fortress, none of us believed it would come to battle. We were told nothing of a Sorcerer. We were told that we were searching for Suruv Tarkaan's daughter. And,"he added, "if the Tisroc is in fact in favor with the Sorcerer as Prochorus said, that isn't to say the rest of Calormen is. Despite popular belief, there are good men in Calormen, ones that wouldn't likely join forces with evil men, and the Tisroc knows this. He may fear the Sorcerer, but he fears losing his kingdom even more. I suspect that if (Aslan forbid) the Sorcerer should ever win, the Tisroc would immediately jump to his side and claim he had helped deliver Archenland and Narnia all along."

"Do you believe the Sorcerer would welcome him, even after he hadn't given his entire kingdom to the Sorcerer's use?"

"Yes, I think he would. The Sorcerer may be a powerful man, but he can't run an entire country by himself."

Galian took a deep breath, digesting all the information. Rubbing his head, he said in a small voice, "That means that every theory we've accepted before now is worthless. That means we're right back where we started; fighting an enemy we know nothing about."

Aoife did present her plans to Faolan and his architect. Faolan, of course, refused to change anything and did not give in to Aoife's pleas to trust her, which meant that she and Galian had to present Greystorm's journal to him. He was as bewildered as all are who read such words for the first time, and immediately afterwards claimed that Greystorm had been a crackpot and a humiliation of his generation. Additionally, he felt that the prophecies that had apparently come true were ones written after the events had actually occurred. A great dispute arose, and the argument was taken to Anvard, to the only person who would know the most about books: the palace librarian. The librarian, who was also a great scholar and healer, was incidently a centaur, and immediately upon seeing the journal warned Aoife, Faolan, and Galian that they would do well to heed the warnings written in that book, for though most men felt Greystorm was a fraud as Faolan did, he was in fact the greatest seer in Northern history. Therefore, quite snubbed but unable to make the others see his point, Faolan allowed the plans to be altered, until the castle was almost what we would call Spartan. The dwarves in particular were quite irritated that they wouldn't be allowed to display some of their magnificent stonework, but at Galian's request they did not grumble (at least not amongst the other workers) about it.

Galian was proclaimed the Master Foreman. In addition to participating in the construction efforts where he could, he listened to the workers' various problems, and if he felt they were notable, passed them on to Aoife. Unfortunately for the workers, Aoife wasn't always readily available, for most of her time was spent traveling to either Anvard to pacify the impatient nobles, or else to various parts of the country to secure more supplies. During her absence, Galian, Pericles, and the Master Architect shared the leadership roles. Faolan had returned to his duties in Anvard and Stormness Head, and only visited every so often.

For those of you who have been through the experience of building a house (as I have), you would know that construction is a very long, tedious process. The slightest mistake can have a lasting and possibly even detrimental effect on the building. Therefore, unless one were actually involved in the building process, they would be almost incapable of seeing the tremendous progress that was being made, unless they saw four walls erected before their very eyes. The construction team of Diarko Pygros was doing very well indeed, in fact, by midsummer, they were well ahead of schedule.

However, after then, trouble began to brew. It began with a few sacks of potatoes or the like going missing. Next a bundle of hammers went missing. One day the supply train itself was delayed, because, as the drivers explained, the horses had refused to budge for the longest, as something in the woods had frightened them. The next time, when wagons carrying stone from the quarry were en route, bandits attacked, killing all the wagon-drivers and taking all the horses with them, but left the stone. This happened two more times, until it was decided that a small armed guard would have to travel with the supply trains. Even with a guard, the drivers were still attacked on occasion. One night, a man awoke during the night and stepped out of his tent for a moment for some fresh air. That man was never seen again.

Aoife appealed to the Queen for assistance, but Archenland's resources were stretched thin as it was, and no guard could be provided. Aoife had no choice but to order the workers to be alert and to set up a rotation schedule during which some workers would keep watch at night and sleep through the day. Such a decision left them short of workers, but they still managed to stay on schedule.

The months passed. Bandits were still present but much less of a threat thanks to the constant vigilance of the workers. A time or two, Pericles and his men skirmished with the bandits, and each time the bandits were driven away. Galian sorely wanted to participate in the fighting, but was still unfit, and unarmed as well, since his sword had been broken in his last battle. He felt quite naked without one, and traveled about with a great hunting knife to supplement his need for protection. He practiced his skills as often as his side would allow, so as not to lose the skill that had taken so long to acquire.

The months passed, and finally the working season was over. A feast was thrown to thank the workers for their efforts that year (though Galian agreed that after all they had been through that year, and it only being the first year, they deserved a good bit more than a feast). Everyone went to his or her respective home, save for Aoife, Pericles, and Galian, who were reluctant to leave the castle in so fragile a condition. Southern Archenland was pleasant during the fall, and did not become nearly as cold as the rest of its motherland. Still, Galian wanted more than anything to go home. He was allowed a few weeks furlough, but then it was only to see to it that the dwarves received their payment of tobacco and vegetables. Harvest isn't, after all, the most relaxing time of year, and Galian found that he was able to rest much more when he was away from home more so than when he was actually there.

The days at the unfinished Diarko Pygros were uneventful, and yet someone needed to be there at all times to see to its safety. Aoife was really the lucky one, her duties allowed her to travel most places. To save their sanity, and to keep abreast of what was happening in the country, Galian and Pericles alternated riding about with her.

Aoife and Galian had just returned from a very strenuous meeting with the other nobles, all of whom demanding the exact date the castle would be completed, which, of course, no one knew, and also each sharing their opinions on how to cut costs so they wouldn't have to pay as much to the tax collector. Aoife was quite frustrated with the venture, and throughout the trip, Galian had been doing his best to cheer her up, to no avail.

"I'm sorry it didn't go as well as you had hoped,"he finally told her as they rode into camp, "sometimes our plans just don't work out as we want them to."

"I know,"she sighed, "but after all we've done, they still don't believe in the necessity for a castle."

"And they probably never shall, until it saves their lives one day. Then they shall herald their support of it and claim it was their idea the entire time. A good politician always knows how to keep himself dignified in the peoples' eyes."

They shared a short banter about politics a moment before finally stopping to dismount before Aoife's small stone hut she chose to live in during the colder months. As he helped her down, Aoife wore a rather worried look, and when he set her on the ground, she said in a quiet voice, "I-I'm sorry I didn't visit you when you were hurt."

Not coming to see him had, of course, hurt Galian as much as it would hurt you or I, but suddenly he felt magnanimous, and said, "There's no need to apoligize. You were busy with the castle, of course."

"No, I should have at least come to see you. I was very, very worried when I heard you were so seriously wounded. And I did ask about you any moment I was in Anvard, or when I met someone who had been in Anvard recently. I just...I don't know, I suppose I was too stubborn...or proud..."

"Perhaps,"Galian replied, smiling a little, "but you've a bountiful array of good qualities to overshadow your bad ones, so I shouldn't worry myself over my mistakes."

She returned his smile with a wide one of her own, and hugged him tightly, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. He turned his head, and saw that she was still near, and suddenly found his heart beating thunderously and his breathing become shallow. She was close enough that if he wanted to, he could kiss that mouth that had captivated him for so long...

Of course, as luck would have it, Pericles appeared round the corner, having heard horses approach, "How did things,"he began, but stopped when he saw the compromising position Aoife and Galian were currently in, and finished flatly, "go?"

Aoife and Galian stepped away quickly, and Aoife gave him the shorter version of the story mixed with a few light jests about politicians to lighten the mood. Pericles, however, did not laugh, but instead wished her a good night as he and Galian took the horses to be unsaddled. As soon as they were alone, Pericles dropped the reigns, grabbed Galian fiercely, and threw him into a wall.

"Don't ever"he threatened, "touch her again. Do you understand? Don't look like you want to. Don't even dream of it. If you do, I swear to the Lion himself..."

"Do you really think you can intimidate me, Captain?"Galian said dangerously, "how often have you tried?"

This only infuriated Pericles more, "Listen here...I've known Aoife all her life. I was there for her when Suruv used to treat her so horribly. I was there to comfort her and let her know that none of what he said had any truth to it. All those years I protected her from Suruv and her disgusting brother Bederf, and anyone else who said so much as one word against her honor. I have fought and cried with her. You, you're nothing but jester to her, something to keep her entertained. She will choose me in the end. She has to. I would _never_ give her up without fighting for her."

Galian had a smart reply ready, but suddenly the pair heard movement in the distance. Quite forgetting their quarrel, they drew their respective weapons, and waited in hiding for the intruder to appear. He came not through the thick array of trees as most bandits, but on the less-than-frequently traveled road that led south and eventually to Calormen. This only made the two soldiers that much more worried. They didn't dare move, didn't even dare to breathe, only sat in their crouched positions, curious as to what the man's next move would be.

As they feared, it rode straight to the castle, pausing every now and then to look about. He didn't seem to be in any hurry, didn't even seem to be all that worried about being caught, for he whistled cheerfully and occasionally made an approving remark on the structure. Galian and Pericles looked at each other in wonder and surprise; no Calormene that they had ever known liked to whistle unless it served a purpose (i.e. calling a horse). Feeling they were safe as long as they had the enemy outnumbered, they stepped from their hiding spot, and Galian cried out, "Hello there! What business do you have at this time of night?"

The horseman turned, and bore down on Galian and Pericles, who were standing in the road and in the only path the horseman would find that led him home. Pericles was ready for him, Galian close behind but unable to get into an adequate attack position due to his lack of defensive tools. However, no defense was needed for the horseman stopped just short of Pericles, and cried out loud, "My old friends! And you call that heap of rubble the structure that shall save Archenland's very existence?"

The jaws of both Galian and Pericles dropped, and they sheathed their weapons. After all, why should they expect Lord Elisud, commander of her majesty's military, to be riding around their castle at night, instead of fighting in the west as they had believed. Either things had gone very well, or very, very horribly...

"Elisud...is everything..."Galian couldn't bring himself to ask about what had happened.

Elisud, however, saved him the misery, spreading his arms wide and exclaiming, "It's over, old chaps! Or, it is for now. But this isn't the place to talk. Mightn't there be somewhere we can talk, preferably a somewhere with a good cup of wine?"

A few minutes later they were settled in Pericles's tent, drinking what Elisud cheerfully complained was weak ale (Pericles was not much of a drinker).

"We were fighting terrifically, really,"Elisud began, "no commander could ask for better soldiers, nor for anyone who would fight harder and with more heart than the men I fought alongside. But it seemed that for every anarchist we killed, three more replaced him. It was quite frustrating, really. I can't tell you how many nights we all sat up wondering how the devil we were going to send these fiends back to their master a beaten people. We finally agreed the best thing to do would be to push them beyond the pass to Telmar, and find a way block the pass so they might never come back in that way. You see, with the pass blocked, they'd have to either come in from the south, but we're always watching our southern hills for Calormenes, or from the west, which they wouldn't be able to find a good entrance until they were well into Narnia, and King Rilian keeps his borders very well guarded (save for his southern border, of course). We managed to beat them back until they were far beyond the pass, and then we went to work, hacking away at more stone that I care to chop in my lifetime. We wanted to cut enough stone as to make a high enough wall that no one could come across. As providence would have it, one morning a fellow dislodged a particularly large bit of stone, and the thing came crashing down, which caused more boulders to crash down, which caused one of the biggest landslides I've ever seen, making a wall higher than we had ever planned to build. Miraculously, that fellow survived, only a few bruises to brag about to his comrades. I've left a small garrison just in case. The rest of the army is camped a few miles away, just over the last ridge. We may remain for a while just to be sure, but I do not believe the Serpens Russus should find it easy to harass innocent Archenlanders again."

Though some might remain skeptical, the three at that table, who had watched their fellow citizens suffer for so long, prayed that it was the truth, and followed that last statement with a hearty cheer, and toasted to another victory for Archenland.


	13. Chapter 13

I suppose there really isn't an adequate explanation for a five month hiatus. However, these past few months have almost been more than I can handle. New love, new major, and a brother with cancer have taken up my thoughts and allowed no room for my story, other than a fleeting thought as to what I wanted to do next. This chapter was extraordinarily difficult to write, and were it not for the brilliant epiphany from God, it might not have been finished at all. I apologize to you all, and I hope I haven't totally lost all my faithful readers, especially Jason and Sanaryelle. Thank you again, for reading my story, everyone.

Dedicated to my old woman, my blind baby, the best dog in the world, Meg. I miss you more than words can say. I miss the way you used to lay at my feet while I slept, or sat beside me while I read. I love you Pooper, and know that all dogs go to heaven. See you there.

Chapter 13 one final time

That fall was the dreariest seen in that part of Archenland in a long time. In taverns and inns not far away from the castle, elderly patrons remarked that it was by far the coldest fall they had ever seen. This did not improve the morale of the workers of Diarko Pygros. Thieves had begun to attack their supply convoys, and were helping themselves to any spare tool lying about. The workers were able to do painfully little with the frost settling about, and the inactivity led, more often than not, to trouble. The soldiers, besides having to deal with miscreants, also had the thieves and other sorts of enemies to reckon with, and their nerves had been pushed past the breaking point. With all this in mind, Aoife concluded the work season three weeks early, and save for a few, the stressed workers were allowed to return to their homes for the winter.

With the workers gone, the thievery slowed til it almost stopped. Without the crowd of construction workers walking about here and there, there was no chance to slip in unnoticed. Aoife, Galian, and Pericles enjoyed the breather, and, in the meantime, met nearly every day to plan and improve previously made plans. During one of these meetings, they were graced by Lord Faolan's presence, who offered a quite unusual proposal.

"My dear friends,"he lamented lavishly, always a sign he wanted something, "I believe I have solved any problems we might have with the size of our workforce."

"I wasn't aware there was a problem with the size of our workforce, my lord,"Aoife commented, looking a tad puzzled.

"Oh, my lady, we certainly have an _adequate _number of workers, I suppose. But this proposition I want to lay before all present will give us more than we need to meet our deadlines and, who knows, possibly even complete construction ahead of schedule."

"That's quite ambitious, my lord,"Galian responded, "and where have you procured these additional forces?"

"The prisons, my boy."

It took a second for those words to register with the other three, and once it did, Galian was sure he heard wrong, "I beg you pardon, my lord?"

"Prisons, Sir Galian, prisons. Let me start from the beginning," he said, rubbing his hands together, as if he were really excited about the idea, "The jails are quite full at this point. Lords Elisud and Aidan are still in the process of capturing the rebels that started the war a few months ago. Lord Aidan approached me the last time I was in Anvard, alerted me to the problem of overcrowding in our jails, and regretfully informed me that some of the lesser criminals had to be sent away because of the sheer lack of space for them. The two of us tried to devise a remedy for this problem, and eventually we came to a conclusion. I proposed to him, as I am proposing to you, that we empty the jails of those who have committed nonviolent crimes, or who are in debt, or any man of that nature, bring them here to our own secure compound, and allow them the opportunity to work off their debts and sentences with us."

He sat back in his chair upon finishing his speech, marveling in the glory of his idea. He did not expect the doubtfulness and even looks of refusal on the faces of the three before him.

Aoife was the first to speak, "My lord, it is certainly a cheap form of labor. Are you sure that these men would perform their duties adequately?"

"They will be under the sharpest of scrutiny, my lady,"Faolan answered, "they know very well that only the most deserving of them will be able to work outside, in the fresh air, away from bars and chains and such. Their motivation is the reduction of the time they will be forced to serve, and surely they will not abuse the privilege they are given."

"You say that they are nonviolent criminals?"Pericles asked, a very serious look on his face.

"Most of them are burglars, pickpockets, minor criminals of that sort. Many of them are heavily in debt. None of the men that will be asked to come here has a history of harming another person. None of them have a history of violence, other than the occasional bar fight rustics are known for becoming involved in."

The insult stung Galian worse than the proposal, and he said hotly, "I must say, my lord, that I am absolutely against the proposal at any costs."

"You brush it away so suddenly, Sir Galian?"

"I hear you describe the details and duties of these men, and yet in my mind, I see them as I saw my fellow slaves in Calormen; poor, unlucky men, who are forced to do the work of another because they are not as fortunate as he. This project was approved with the understanding that none of our workers would be asked to work against their will. They would all be treated like men, not like servants or slaves or anyone lowlier than ourselves."

"Galian, these men are unlucky, but they are not being forced. They were giving an option. They can either stay in jail or enjoy the fresh air and appreciate the honest, hard labor the put into such a noteworthy effort."

"I was given an option as well, my lord, when I was in a situation similiar to theirs. I could do as I was told, or I would be beaten to death. As you can see, the decision in that situation is quite an easy one to make."

"Indeed you are right, Sir Galian. You were forced to endure years of hell that none of us can ever imagine. But if I may say so, my good knight, that it has indeed made you a better person. You have known hard labor and rough times and it has shaped you into the respectable young man that you now are. Could we not argue that the same could happen to these men, only their work shall go to a much better cause?"

You can imagine that at this point, Galian had very little to argue with. He still disliked the idea tremendously, and with that nagging doubt in his mind, he posed another question, "How are we to maintain these additional men? We must provide boarding and food for them, as well as tools, clothing, and additional security. How are we to manage that, my lord, with the treasury of Archenland unwilling to put forth any more than it already has, with each of us having spent every last coin we ever possessed?"

"Leave that to me, Sir Galian. I have additional soldiers that can guard the prisoners. I have craftsmen who will be able to fashion a compound in which the prisoners will be kept. Worry not of funds and such as that. Allow Aoife and I to take care of the business end. Your job, and that of Captain Pericles, involves the hard labor."

Galian was quite out of arguments at this point, and Pericles and Aoife as well had no objections, and Lord Faolan left Diarko Pygros bound for Anvard to relay the good news to an anxious Lord Aidan.

Fall passed quickly, and winter arrived. As promised, more soldiers and craftsmen arrived to construct the compound in which the prisoners would be residing. In the end, it was nothing more than four strong, stone walls, with only one entrance, and walkways along the walls so the guards could be mindful of what occurred inside. The craftsmen even took the liberty of constructing twenty little hovels, each capable of holding four men.

The project was no sooner completed, and the craftsmen gone, than it started to rain. The rain turned to ice, and what resulted was the worst traveling conditions Galian had ever known Archenland to have. The supply trains were unable to make the journey, and the few that were left in Diarko Pygros were forced to take food from the reserve stocks. Finally, though they never knew they would be so glad to see it, a blizzard came, and snow blanketed nearly all of Archenland. The conditions were not ideal, but at least small caravans and single riders were able to make their journeys without event. As Christmas approached, Galian became one such rider. He had not been to his farm in what seemed to be ages, and he knew that his presence was desperately required. He informed Aoife of his intent, and he could almost swear (or perhaps, he wanted to see it) he saw a look of sorrow and regret pass her face. It had been so long since the two of them had really had a real conversation, not one that didn't involve the castle anyway. He had become a tad edgy with her as of late, and she with him, and often they had found themselves arguing about small things regarding the castle. But that afternoon before Galian was scheduled to leave, as they sat in her tent over a warm cup of cider, and were able to talk of things other than the castle, Galian looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in months. Her skin was paler than usual, a porcelain white that somehow was able to make her seem more beautiful than ghastly. Her thin blonde hair was, as always, pulled up out of her face. Her red dress was very simple, one that she had bought from a peasant in the nearest town, as she had, of late, been trekking over construction grounds, amongst mud and filth and nothing that anyone would want to wander in wearing their best clothes. She wore the simplest things, looked as ordinary, and, Galian dared to say, haggard as she ever had; and yet, Galian found himself in love with her all over again.

"If only you could come to the Dancing Lawn, to spend Christmas with me,"he found himself saying wistfully.

She looked as if nothing would please her more, but said in a regretful voice, "If only I could, Galian. I certainly could use a holiday. I fear Christmas Day will be my only day of rest."

"We're at the end of a work season. Surely nothing is so pressing that it can't be dealt with a week from now?"

"Perhaps it could be, but I would be quite nervous to let my obligations sit that long,"she said, though she sounded tired.

"I understand,"Galian said in a sad voice, wishing there was something he could do to help her. He reached out and touched her hand and said, "If you need me to stay, I will stay."

At his touch, she seemed to grow quite nervous. So nervous, in fact, that she coughed, and withdrew her hand quickly, and muttered several times that no, Galian needed to go to his farm, as he said he did. She quite understood it, and would be able to manage things until he returned. If ever she ran into trouble, Lord Faolan, she was sure, would be glad to help.

The entire day the next day, Galian berated himself. He shouldn't have left. He could have stayed. Silex would have sent word if all was not well with the farm. Surely his presence was not needed that badly?

As much as his heart wanted him to return to Diarko Pygros, his head overruled that wish, and he found himself in Anvard just as night fell. Luckily for he, it had not snowed all the day long, and though it was cold, the sun shone, and no wind blew. Still, he was in a hurry to get to the kitchens and the warm food. There, as he was sure he would, he found Elisud, gnawing on a chicken bone with a pint in the other hand. He was very cheery as he saw Galian, and pulled up a chair for him. After receiving news of the castle, he shared what news he had with Galian.

"Oh, the enemy is all but gone. There are still a few patrols policing the western border, but as of late there has been very little activity. Most of the Serpentes Russus are freezing in the mountains, I expect."

"You don't think there may be more of them in hiding?"

"Not enough to do any serious damage to us."

"Luckily. Now perhaps Archenland will be able to live as it once did, without fear or danger."

"Yes. And I can get back to being the annoying little drunkard pest I was before. I say, old boy, would you believe the tavern keeper has nearly forgotten my name?"

The rest of the night was uneventful, or uneventful as far as you or I am concerned. Galian, in fact, had quite an interesting night to say the least, as Elisud, being his merry little self, told very comical stories very loudly, and sang an old Narnian marching tune loudly and very much off key.

This being normal and expected behavior for Elisud, there were several available to help him reach his room without incident. Galian, on the other hand, was left to escort himself to his own room. As he wandered the dark halls, with only foot soldiers to nod at him as he passed by, he noticed as he passed by the medical ward a small light emitting from thence. Remembering that he had not yet had the chance to thank Rainwood for the care he had shown, Galian decided it would be prudent to peek inside and do so.

The candlelight was low, and Galian almost couldn't see the giant centaur as he hunched over a document of some sort. He only looked up from his work when Galian had approached the table. In his solemn voice, he said "Welcome, my lord."

"Rainwood. I hope all is well?"

"The stars spell trouble, my lord."

"Really? For whom?"

"For us all, my lord."

There was an awkward silence as Rainwood returned to his papers, which turned out to be star charts, or something like. Galian cleared his throat nervously, and was about to thank Rainwood for saving his life, when the dark haired centaur said abruptly, "Do you know your constellations, lord?"

Taken aback, Galian responded, "Perhaps not as much in detail as you do. But I know some."

"Can you go to the window for me, lord, and find the Leopard?"

Galian, like all Narnians, had gazed into the nighttime sky, and had seen the Leopard gazing down upon him many times. However, he went to the window and did as he was ask. As he peered up into the night sky, Rainwood asked him "Do you know how the leopard became one with the stars?"

Galian racked his brain of all the Narnian folktale he had heard before answering, "He was a hero of the Hundred Years of Winter, was he not? It has been long since I have heard the story."

"If I may retell it to you, my lord. The leopard, who was named Pál, was once an agent of the White Witch. One day, as he was carrying out the duties she had prescribed for him, he encountered a flash of light, just outside where Beaversdam is now, and a voice spoke to him, 'Pál, you have harmed my beloved. You have been the Witch's slave for too long. Turn from your evil ways, Pál, and serve me, Aslan, your one true lord.'

From that moment on, Pál was no longer under the pay of the White Witch. Instead, he ushered fugitives into small caves and over the borders to Archenland and the Western Wild, all the while telling his story. He assured the Narnians that Aslan was coming for them soon, and in the meantime, they were to live as Narnians should, no matter how dangerous it was to do at that time. He was caught escorting Narnians to safe places several times, and was several times attacked by the Witch's wolves, several times almost killed, nearly every time was wounded so badly he could not walk for days. And yet he persisted. One day, a few years before the Witch's fall, he passed along a message to several of his closest friends. He informed them that the end of the Witch's reign was near, but warned them that the Witch's line would not die for thousands and thousands of years."

"He was right, of course."

"He was my lord. But that is not the end of the story. A few days after making this predictions, Pál was captured, along with a few others. Each was sent to the Witch's castle, was put before her and given his or her sentence. For Pál, the Witch reserved a special death. Pál, after being beaten til he was nearly dead, was completely shaved of all his fur, til he was as naked as a newborn human child. She then conjured up the thickest blizzard her powers would allow, and chained the poor leopard out in the thick of it. When the wolves found him the next morning, he had frozen to death."

"How awful,"Galian said, after a few minutes, genuinely chilled at the prospect of such a noble beast dying in such a horrid way.

"Despair not, my lord, for our Lord Pál still dances with us every night. When he died, the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea determined that the hero deserved a special place of honor. And so, he placed him in the night sky, and when you or I look to that sky, we see him, watching over us."

In awe, Galian's sense nevertheless took over as he asked, "I'm sorry, Rainwood, but...why are you telling me this story now? Why is it so important that it has deprived you of sleep when others have long ago submitted to slumber?"

"I am a star gazer, as well as a healer, my lord. And I have seen in the stars a puzzle that has deprived me of rest for years upon years now."

He laid a map before Galian, a map of Archenland, "My lord, would it please you to notice Archenland's nine major cities?"

Galian looked to the map, and saw them, still a little puzzled. "And now, my lord," Rainwood finished, showing him another parchment, "Would your lordship please notice the placement of the stars of the constellation Leopard?"

Galian did, and after several minutes of study, muttered, "The placement of the cities is nearly the same as the placement of the stars."

"Yes, my lord. Nearly. Archenland lacks one city, otherwise it would model the constellation Leopard. A city, _to the south_."

Galian looked, then looked sharply again, from the map to the constellation. Sure enough, the southernmost star was all that kept the map and the constellation from being identical. If Archenland were to have another major city to complete the pattern, it would be...in the exact spot Diarko Pygros was now being built.

Galian looked to Rainwood, wide eyed and genuinely shaken, "I know better, my good centaur, than to assume this is all a coincidence."

"And you would be wise to assume that, my lord. Pál predicted that the Witch's generation would not be destroyed for thousands and thousands of years. I have watched the stars all my life, Galian. And I tell you now, the time has come for that line to end. And it will, as it has before, come with the aid of the Leopard."

"You mean that..."

"You have before heard the prediction that the Witch's line will die with the completion of the Last Castle."

Galian's head was spinning. He truly felt as if he would faint. But he did not, luckily, and still had the wits to say to Rainwood, "Then...then our troubles aren't over, after all. Elisud...he thinks he's destroyed the Serpentes Russus. But in fact, he hasn't,"looking up, he asked Rainwood sharply, "Rainwood, we still know very little of the Sorcerer."

"Very little, my lord. Even the stars do not speak of him."

"Then he could very well be what he says he is. He could very well be the last of the lineage of Jadis."

"It is possible, my lord. In fact, it is very likely."

Galian arose abruptly, starting for the door. Rainwood called after him, "Where shall you go, my lord?"

"I'm going back. The farm can wait. Aoife, Archenland, nay, the entire world, is in danger."


	14. Chapter 14

I owe you all an apology, those of you that still bother to read this. It's been a really horrible year for me, one that has not allowed me much time for writing. I nearly gave up on this story, what with so few reading it, and with so much pressure from school, relationships and the like. But, more than anything, I want Galian's story to continue, for I had grand adventures still planned for him. So, those of you still reading...thank you. And many apologies.

Chapter 14

Galian, while very much wanting to get to Diarko Pygros as soon as possible, was forced to wait for morning light. No man, not even the best swordsman in the north, was foolish enough to travel alone, at night, in the dead of winter, with only the moon to light his way. But as soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, Galian was well on his way, pushing poor Dancer to the brink of exhaustion. When he finally did let her rest, he had earned what he could have sworn was a loathing glare from his mount.

But, to Galian's relief, he arrived at Diarko Pygros in a timely manner to find it still intact. Still a little nervous, he stormed into camp, and was greeted by a shocked Aoife.

It took him about five minutes to explain what he had learned. Still, when he finished, the lady could not quite grasp the concept.

"You're saying,"Aoife said slowly, "that all the cities of Archenland are placed exactly as the stars of the constellation Leopard? And that this Leopard is supposed to help us defeat the remainder of the White Witch's descendants?".

"Why not?"

"I-well, its truly a fantastic tale..."

"I know it's a little outrageous,"Galian replied, "but why should it be any more outrageous than two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve defeating a witch who reigned a hundred years. How is it any more strange than a Prince who was captured by a witch and enchanted for forget all he ever knew? We are not dealing with ordinary men. We're dealing with Sorcerers and magic. What else would we do but call on extraordinary forces ourselves?"

"It is odd,"Aoife said softly, "and yet...many of our adventures have been. Somehow, I believe what you say, Galian. We must complete construction, as soon as we possibly can. If you are right, then the fate of the north lies in our hands."

Quite glad that she had seen things his way, Galian nevertheless lay a cautious hand on her arm, "You must promise,"he said earnestly, "that you will not disclose this to anyone. Not even Pericles. If word were to leak out to our enemies that the completion of this castle might very well bring about their doom..."

"Of course. I won't breathe a word."

Christmas eventually fell upon them. Galian, Aoife Pericles, and the few guards that were left, awoke to a bright, snowy day, much like the ones they had seen a few days earlier, but more magical because it was Christmas. There were snowball fights, snow angels made, sledding down hills on wooden boards, then afterwards warm fires and dry clothes and hot chocolate. That night there was a feast worthy of king of Archenland. There was water fowl, hot and tender, baked bread, cheese, steaming vegetables, and wine for all. Everyone had as much as they liked, and when it was all over, everyone told stories of Christmases past, of battles fought and won, of valor unrenowned. Thus, with full stomachs and hearts, they left for their respective dwellings late into the night.

Galian had only been dozing for a moment when he heard something stirring. All the good feeling and merriment he had felt during that day immediately vanished, replaced by untethered fear and caution. He shot out of his bed, reaching for the nearest weapon, which, in this case, happened to be a shovel. But he immediately froze when he saw who was standing at his door.

The man wore a thick, brown fur coat, the lining fringed with white fur. His beard was thick and white and covered most of his solemn yet merry face. On his back was a large sack, filled with Galian never knew what.

"Merry Christmas, sir," Galian said, a little shaken.

"It would have been the end of Christmases, if you had your way with that shovel,"Father Christmas pointed out, though his eyes twinkled.

Galian looked sheepishly at his weapon, "You never can be too careful."

"No, indeed, Galian. You cannot," Father Christmas looked serious again, "my son, we are at war."

"I know."

"I'm afraid you don't, Galian. You are up against a foe that no one in history has ever faced his like. You have all the information you need, but nothing will be able to prepare you for the fight," here he approached the downtrodden young man, placed his hands on his shoulders, and said, softly but sternly, "These times will be the hardest you have ever had to face, Galian. If it doesn't break you, you will be ten times stronger than any man I know. And you can imagine I have known many men."

He turned back to his pack, and pulled from it a long, brown parcel. He gave it to Galian without a word, who unwrapped it, and pulled from it the most majestic sword anyone had ever laid eyes upon. The shining blade was, as Galian saw after pulling it from the scabbard, nearly thirty inches long, and so sharp that his thumb had barely grazed it before a long, deep cut appeared. The handle was black, with brass spacers, molding perfectly to his grip. The pommel was embossed with a rampant lion. It was the perfect weight, much more maneuverable than any other sword Galian had handled in his lifetime, and the blade sang beautifully as Galian parried with an imaginary opponent. It was perhaps the most beautiful piece of steel Galian has seen in his life.

"Do you see that lion, on the pommel?" when Galian nodded, Father Christmas continued, "Galian, this sword was wrought by the Great Lion Himself. You are his chosen one, Galian. His favor has rested upon you. And know, that when the favor of the Lion is upon you, _it will never leave_. Never forget that no matter where you go, no matter what you do, Aslan will be with you."

Galian, afraid, sickened, and feeling more alone than he had ever felt in his life, looked at Father Christmas, and said shakily, "I will not forget."

The rest of winter passed uneventfully, save for the message Galian received from Silex wondering how the dickens he was supposed to keep a farm running by himself. Amist all the cranky rambleings was news that the farm was losing revenue, and Galian had no doubt.

Before the work season was to begin again, there was the matter of the compound that would hold the prisoners. Despite the fact they were supposedly nonviolent, Pericles and Galian both insisted that measures were taken to ensure that they remained that way. Presently, they, with the help of most of the other guards, had constructed very simple enclosure, with several small, stone huts, and walls so thick and high that it would be impossible to escape. A week or two afterwards, additional guards arrived with the prisoners. They were tame-looking enough, and, to their credit, very respectful of their masters. When they spoke, it was quietly and cautiously, and while they looked downtrodden, they seemed to have high hopes that now, perhaps, their luck had turned.

Not all of the returning workers were pleased to learn they were to work alongside criminals. The dwarves in particular came to Galian infuriated just seconds after they arrived. There was a fierce shouting match, which ended with Brokk threatening to write Griffle, and Galian swearing that if Brokk were to bring him the pen and paper, he would do it himself.

Things settled for the time being, though the dwarves absolutely refused to be within any distance where the prisoners were reported to be. A few of the other workers were discipline for jeering and bullying the prisoners, but otherwise, the season commenced as planned.

Truthfully, the three leaders pushed the workers much harder this year, determined to have the castle completed soon. Pericles assumed the others wanted a speedy completion so they could be done with this foolishness, as he did. He knew nothing of their real fear, nor why they often looked to the west with hands on sword hilts. Nor why they even bothered carrying swords at all...

At Galian's insistence, it was the defenses they looked to first. The great wall round the castle was built, and defense towers were placed in their appropriate places. A moat was dug round, filled and despite Galian insistence, did not become a home to alligators. While defenses on the castle itself were still being seen to, Galian and a small band of workers were asked to set up defenses in the field; ditches, palisades, fences, and the like. His party consisted of three guards, two dwarves, and ten prisoners. How the dwarves were convinced to work alongside the prisoners, Galian could not fathom.

Their work lasted the better part of a week. There were some words between the prisoners and dwarves, then the guards and the dwarves, then Galian and the dwarves, then a passing donkey and the dwarves, but soon they came to their very last day. They were to erect enough palisades, enough, as Galian saw fit, before they were able to call their work a success. It had been cold for a summer day, eerily cold, and they all worked as hard as they could to keep warm. The wind did not help matters much, and it blew so hard that roared round Galian's ears so that he could not hear. Which is why it took several turns before the warnings of his companions reached him.

They were, you understand, at the southernmost part of Archenland. Nothing lay between themselves and Calormen except for few gorges and a river. There should be no living soul beyond Diarko Pygros, unless of course, they were bandits. Which is why a great hoard of horsemen coming over the closest ridge probably meant no good for the band of workers.

Grasping his shovel tightly in his hands, Galian made his way to the others.

"Send for help," he ordered one of the guards, who took off at breakneck speed. To the others, he said, "I do not have any reason to believe that these men are friends. Stand together. We might be a match for them if we work as one."

They were afraid. All ten of those prisoners, who had never done any fighting unless liquor was involved, likely as not. Surely none of them had ever held a real weapon. And even now, they had no real weapons, save for the guards. And save for the guards, they had no protection worth mentioning. Galian's sword was back at his hut. He, and the rest, had shovels and picks. Sighing in a rather surrendering manner, Galian turned back to the approaching enemy. He had probably faced the same odds with the same tools. The problem was, everyone else had died.

The riders had no intention of stopping. They intended to trample their opponents to death. The were most certainly a band of thieves, and would certainly not stop at quite literally taking the clothes off the dead bodies.

Galian dodged them just in time. Luckily, so did many of the others. In one motion, he rolled away from the approaching hoard, and swung his shovel upward. It collided with a man's leg, but the man did not lose his seat. His next blow dug into a man's stomach, and he did fall off, crashing to the ground while Galian drove the shovel into his stomach. He withdrew it just in time unseat another man, and clubbed this one til blood and bone flew from his head. Taking that man's sword, a very poorly crafted one indeed, he pulled another from his horse, the man's body impaling itself on the sword as he fell. An unseated man rushed at Galian as he tried to pull his sword from his last attacker, ducked as the man swung his sword, and as he was rising, withdrew his small pocket knife and plunged it into the man's stomach, and killed him with his own sword. Alas, he did not see the man to his back, who swung a club that would have broken Galian's neck if it had struck the right place. He fell to the ground, dazed, as the other man repeatedly clubbed Galian across the head and back. Galian had enough sense left in him to kick out at the man's legs, and he toppled to the ground. Galian tried to wrestle the club away from him, but the other man was strong. A sharp punch across the face from Galian forced the other man to let go, and Galian rose to his knees, prepared to swing, but did not proceed with the action, for at that very moment, three swords were pressed to his neck.

He looked about. Only one of his companions was left, one of the guards. All the prisoners had died.

A half hour later, Galian found himself with his hands tied behind his back, sitting good distance away, watching as the thieves raided the dead, friend and foe alike.

"What will they do with us?"the guard asked.

"Sell or kill us,"Galian said, half bitterly, half defeated. This wasn't happening. Someone should be coming to help soon. He was _not_, under any circumstances, going to be a slave again.

And then, the ground under him rumbled. Not significantly, surely not enough a man consumed with greed would notice. But Galian and the guard noticed it immediately. And they were as certain as they could be that they knew what it was. For they had only felt those slight tremors when a calvary of substantial size was approaching.

Eventually, even the thieves heard it. They all looked to their weapons, and had assembled into a fighting stance just as the calvary topped the next ridge. But as they grew closer, horror struck Galian. They were not horsemen of Archenland. The horses they rode were all black as night. Their tunics were green, with something red embroidered on chest.

"Narnia?"the guard asked, puzzled.

"No,"Galian replied, fearfully, "The Serpens Russus."

And indeed it was, the fearful cult Elisud had thought he had vanquished. They swept in with deadly precision. The thieves, wrought with confusion, didn't stand a chance. The battle was over in moments. The only living thief was the one left to stand watch over Galian and the guard.

A particularly large and burly man dismounted from his horse, and, with three others, approached the area where Galian sat. The thief was already on his knees, begging for mercy. The big man regarded him coldly, then in a flash, withdrew his sword and smote the pitiful man. Blood flew, some if it landing on Galian's face and clothes.

The other three men approached him. Galian kicked out viciously, as did the other guard. But they stood no chance at all. Two of the men picked Galian up with ease, and threw him on his stomach, and held him down as the third approached with his sword. Galian squirmed, found he could barely move, and waited for the death blow.

The man cut his bonds.

They did the same with the guard. Galian rolled over, after the guards had released their hold, and began rubbing his sore wrists, still keeping a wary eye on the four men before him.

"Quit your staring. We will not harm you," the big man barked. He had the countenance of a rabid bull dog.

"My apologies,"Galian replied acidly, "I was misled by your barbaric actions regarding prisoners."

The man flashed his teeth, and his hand flew to his sword, but he stayed himself, instead saying coldly, "I am Breye. I act under the authority of His Mightiness, the Sorcerer of the West..."

Galian interrupted him, "And just what authority does your Sorcerer have in these parts?"

Breye was on him in a flash, grabbing the back of his neck as he would pick a dog up by the scruff of his neck, "You are terribly ungrateful, for a man whose life I just saved," and with the ease of a child throwing down her doll, he threw Galian to the ground. He knew better than to admit the landing winded him terribly.

"You will go with us now," Breye said, as if nothing had happened, "we will take you back to your companions."

It took a moment for this to register (for Galian was still catching his breath). "Take us back?"

"Yes. What else did you think we were going to do?"

"Judging by the actions of your predecessors, I assumed nothing good."

"My _predecessors_," Breye growled, his teeth flashing again like a wolf's, "were good and honorable men who lost their lives to the steel of Lord Elisud's army, though the attacked was unprovoked and sent during a time of peace. Do not speak to me of my honorable _predecessors_."

"Then what do I say of the ones who infiltrated our lands and killed innocent Archenlanders and Narnians?"

Breye finally lost his patience. With one swing of his mighty paw, Galian was rendered unconscious.

It had been absolutely riotous at Diarko Pygros. An hour ago, they received word that Galian and the others were being attacked. Alerts were sounded. Men who had been designated as proper soldiers raced to their weapons and armor, the others rushed to secure supplies and building materials, and get them inside the protection of the partially completed castle. Word had been sent immediately to Anvard, requesting assistance in quelling the criminals that lay to their south.

Aoife was pure frustration at the slow manner in which things were conducted. Pericles tried time and time again to explain to her that an army wasn't assembled in ten minutes, and that they would venture south as soon as everyone was ready.

Someone suddenly gave a shout. Everyone looked to the south, where a large dust cloud has arisen. Aoife's heart leaped, then fell again. Men on foot couldn't raise a cloud like that.

Everyone watched tensely as the first thing they saw above the ridge was an olive branch. They breathed a little easier then, but still waited cautiously as the rest of the guard appeared over the ridge. They too were puzzled at sight of the green cloaks, and they too were astounded and wary when they found out the riders approaching them, in assumed peace, were Serpens Russus.

Guards tensed and held their weapons tightly. The rest parted ways, anxious to give these vicious killers as much room as they liked. The Serpens Russus thundered up amongst the crowd, and halted immediately. Breye, obviously the commander, cried out in a loud, ringing voice.

"I am Lord Breye, servant of the Mighty Sorcerer! I come here, wishing to speak to your Queen on his behalf, and to bring you this."

Waving his hand, two horses being handled by two green-cloaked men approached, one horse carrying a disheveled man of Pericles's guard, the other carrying an unconscious Galian.

"What happened to them?"Aoife asked accusingly.

Breye regarding her sternly, "And who are you?"

"I am Lady Aoife, who also has the authority to converse with you on behalf of Her Highness Queen Eleytheria of Archenland,"she said with as much sureness as she could muster, though she might not necessarily have the authority to speak on behalf of the Queen, "once again I asked you, what happened to these men, and where are their companions."

Breye contemplated not answering her, for it was very galling for a man in his position to converse with a woman, however, he answered her coldly, "These men were attacked by a savage band of thieves. I can only assume their companions met their deaths while these two miraculously survived, which would not have been the case had it not been for our timely arrival."

Aoife didn't believe them for a minute, but she only said, "We extend our thanks to you, Lord Breye, and to your men, for brining back our companions _somewhat_ safe and sound."

"Your thanks means nothing to us, Woman of Archenland,"Breye hissed, causing Pericles's hand to fly to his sword on Aoife's behalf. Aoife, on the other hand, seethed but continued to listen as the man said, "We wish an audience with the Queen of Archenland. Since she is such a close friend of yours,"here he glared at Aoife patronizingly, "you might return the favor and send for her."

"Her Highness has other matters that require her attention. She may not dub this meeting to be of any importance to her."

"She will, once she learns the future of her country is at stake."

"That sounds like a devilish challenge,"Pericles said dangerously.

"Take it as you will, Calormene. However, you are bound to honor our request. Send for your Queen at once."

Aoife licked her lips thoughtfully, then said, "Excuse me a moment." She and Pericles held a small conference a few paces from where Breye and his men stood.

"As evil as these men are," Pericles said "I cannot order my men to kill them in cold blood. I'm afraid to say it, but he's right. Ask them to surrender their weapons, and we'll put them in an area of the camp where we can keep an eye on them. But we do owe it to them to honor their request."

Frustrated but having no choice to comply, Aoife repeated these words to Breye. He and his men fussed a good bit when they learned they had to give up their weapons, but did so at her request. They were placed in the center of the camp, which Breye grumbled was distrustful and an insult. Aoife ignored him for the time being. She had no intention of letting any of those men out of her sight.

By late morning, Elisud and a contingent of soldiers had arrived, all heavily armed. He was extraordinarily displeased to learn that living Serpens Russus were in camp at that very moment, and might have ordered his men to slaughter them as they lay had Aoife not reminded him that it would not be a knightly thing to do. Elisud complained a good bit, but let the Serpens Russus be for the time being.

He knew nothing of the Queen's plans to grant the Serpens Russus an audience. He only said that he ordered the guard to assemble when he learned of the arrival of the enemy. He sulked about most of the day, and Aoife, with nothing better to do than talk as they waited, asked him what was wrong. After some attempts, he finally burst, "Those men were supposed to be exterminated. Every last one of them is supposed to be dead, at the hands of my army. Seeing that there are in fact survivors means that I have failed this country as a commander. It was my job to seek out and destroy this occult. And I failed."

Aoife was about to reassure him when two trumpeters appeared over the horizon. They sounded their horns, and announced the arrival of Eleytheria, Queen of Archenland, and her cabinet. Immediately, Breye assembled his detachment, as did Elisud. Aoife and Pericles stood by with their own soldiers, and all stood at attention (save for the Serpens Russus) as their Queen appeared over the ridge.

Queen Eleytheria wasted no time in her arrival. She immediately rode into camp amongst bows, dismounted, and faced Breye.

"I am Eleytheria, Queen of Archenland. Who are you, and for what reason do I owe the pleasure of this meeting."

Breye requested that they retire to more private quarters, in the manner that royal matters were held. Therefore, the inquiry continued in a pavilion just south of the castle. A makeshift table sat between the Queen and her advisors, and Breye and his men. The Queen once again asked the purpose of the meeting, and Lord Breye began, "My Queen, we have been unjustly painted by some of your brethren as demonic, cold blooded killers. I tell you now this is not the case. We are a people who have been wrongfully persecuted because we do not worship your lion, Aslan, instead choosing to follow in the wise and more practical teachings of our most reverent Sorcerer. Because of our beliefs, we are painted as an occult. What's more, our land has been threatened by the development of the very castle which lies to our north. Your majesty has granted the same foul beings that spread the aforementioned false rumors about us permission to build a massive castle on our land, an eyesore to this once untouched country. When we tried to confront you and those responsible for this castle, we were met with violence. We were nearly exterminated by the ruthless tactics of your army. We were driven into the mountains, forced to fight for our lives, and when we weren't doing that, we were starving to death. We come to you now, demanding that construction of this castle cease, and demanding that your recognize the Serpens Russus as a sovereign state, and return our lands to us."

The Queen was quite taken aback at the speech, was certainly indignant at the accusations, but finally settled on one of the many questions that fluttered about in her mind, "And why should we recognize you as an independent state?"

"Because, your highness, we have our own system of government, we provide for our own people, we maintain our own army, without the assistance from the crown."

"If its assistance you'd like, we'd be more than happy to give it..."

"We do not want your patronage!" Breye spat, "We want our own nation."

"But you still haven't told me what you have done to deserve such a request."

Breye nearly tore his hair out in anger, "Is dying not enough, Barbaric Queen? Is maintaining and surviving these lands all our lives, in the midst of thieves and slavers, not enough?"

"The fact of the matter is these parts belong to Archenland, and always have. I will offer you assistance, and even grant you protection from religious persecution. But no matter who inhabits these lands, they are still in the possession of Archenland."

Now Breye tore his clothes, and cried, "Then the blood of Serpens Russus and Archenland alike will spill! We will die for our homeland!"

At this point, Faolan rose from his seat, "Master Breye, will it please you to step outside for just a moment?"

Breye and his men did so. It was an hour and a half before they were called back in. Inside the tent, Faolan was standing in the middle of the pavilion, and greeted them. He began, "Gentlemen, we have deliberated, and have found that your claims might have some substance in them. You have lived long in these lands, and have just as much a right to them as the Queen herself. But Her Highness desires proof that, if she were to grant you your own state, that you could govern it successfully and ensure the safety of Archenlanders and Serpens Russus alike. Therefore, with your permission, myself and Lord High Eoghan, chief advisor and husband to Her Majesty, will accompany you to your primary location, where your ruler resides, so that we may observe the method in which life is conducted. If we find it satisfactory, we will then grant your request."

Breye smiled a crocodile's smile, bowed, and replied, "It shall be so, your lordship."


	15. Chapter 15

This chapter may seem too short, but only because the next chapter will be so LONG. Thanks for the reviews, and keep them coming.

Chapter 15

Galian woke around noon the next day. He was laying face down on his own cot, with his head pounding and his eyes having trouble focusing. He tried to turn his head, and found it pained his neck to do so. The sun quite hurt his eyes, and it was several moments before he was able to right himself again.

When he sat up, he noticed a centaur busying himself about Galian's tent. But how had Galian gotten here? He retraced his memory. The last thing he remembered was surrendering to the thieves. No, wait. The last thing he remembered was a giant hand colliding with his head.

"How did I get here?" he asked.

The centaur did not turn around, did not even seem surprised to hear that Galian was awake. Instead, he answered quite placidly, "You are in your tent, my lord. It is exactly one day after the Serpens Russus brought you back to us."

Galian rubbed the back of his neck, then whipped his head up, suddenly grasping what the centaur had just told him, "The _Serpens Russus_ brought me back?"

"Indeed, my lord. But not without a price,"here the centaur stood at his full height (his head was an inch from the top of the tent) and told Galian of the events that had transpired during Galian's unconsciousness. Immediately forgetting his aching head, Galian jumped from his bed, "Are they mad?"

"Lords Eoghan and Faolan will accompany the Serpens Russus to their capital city, a manor far west of here, with a contingent of their own. They leave tomorrow."

"Where is the Queen's tent?"Galian demanded. Upon receiving directions, he raced from his tent, ignoring the inquiries and well wishes of those he passed. He did not stop until he reached the Queen's pavilion, which at this moment, was the site of council between the Queen and her advisors.

Mind you, no one had thought to change Galian's clothes or bathe him, so he was wearing the same attire he had worn the day before, and looked every bit of the part of a man who had dug ditches all day long then gotten into a fierce fight against incredible odds. That, combined with the unannounced way he burst into the Queen's pavilion, made for a very unpresentable Galian.

"Your majesty,"he blurted, "I have heard a vicious rumor that you intend to send a detachment with the Serpens Russus to their capital city, and I came straight to your tent with hopes that you might dispel this rumor once and for all."

Everyone was quite surprised that the Queen looked a bit sheepish as she said quietly, "Galian, we've fought and fought with these people, and we've been quite unable to defeat them. We're all tired of fighting a war with no end. If granting the Serpens Russus their own state saves us from losing more of the bravest in Archenland, then I should do so in a heartbeat."

"Then, your highness, you are willing to admit defeat?"

Faolan arose from his position, and stalked around the table to face Galian, "This is not about winning or losing, Galian. Life is not so simple as that. Her majesty believes that granting the Serpens Russus their own state will stop the violence our country has been steeped in for so long. Most of the council has agreed,"he finished, glaring at Aliased, who matched his glare.

"So, what, then, your majesty? Suppose they decide they want something else from us? Does this not teach them then that we would grant their every request at the point of a sword? We must not give a sign of weakness, your majesty, especially now."

"This says nothing about our weakness, Galian,"the Queen answered, a little annoyed, "I rather think of it as a better solution to losing more warriors."

"And I tell you now that the enemy will think of us as a country easily defeated."

Lord Eoghan, without warning, stood, and addressed Galian, "Would it please you to meet me in my tent in half an hour's time? We may discuss the matter further there."

At that, Galian was escorted out of the pavilion and into Eoghan's tent, which was not too far away. The lord's tent was blue, with golden trimmings. A cot lay at the far end of the tent, and a table and chairs in the center. A trunk lay at the foot of the cot, and in every such place were candles, not lit at this time of day. It was simple, and did not speak the volumes the husband of a Queen would be known to carry.

It was a half hour before the tent flapped open, and Eoghan entered. He was taller than his brother Elisud, but his textures were much the same. His brown hair was slightly mossy. His body was roundish, though he was not obese, and his arms and fingers weren't necessarily the same length, though you had to pay careful attention to that detail. Lord Eoghan was normally a silent fellow; indeed, they said he did not speak much even in council. Galian was told later that the address he had received earlier from Lord Eoghan was the longest speech Eoghan had given in five years.

He offered Galian some wine, who refused, and sat at the table with him. It was a moment before Eoghan began, "Galian, did Elisud ever tell you that our mother is a tree?"

Galian searched his memory, and found that even if Aliased had not told him, he wasn't surprised, given the tree-ish features he and Lord Eoghan possessed.

The lord continued, "She is a beautiful cedar tree of Narnia. She was planted during the first year of the reign of the White Witch. She met my father in the last year of the reign of High King Peter and his magnificent siblings. I was their first child. One hundred and fifty years later, Elisud was born.

I am five hundred years old, Galian. I have seen much during my lifetime. I have seen enough to know that wars and diplomacy are both short-term solutions. With war, the people you conquer grow strong quickly, and attack you with more fervor and more purpose than they did in the first place. If you use diplomacy, there is no way to monitor the actions of the other person, and they could quite easily tell you they are doing one thing when instead they are doing quite the opposite. With diplomacy, you can sanction them and use economics to hit them where it hurts, and yet no men necessarily need to die. But you still run the risk of dealing with a dishonest group of people. Do I trust the Serpens Russus? Not one bit. Do I personally believe they deserve their own state? Absolutely not. But by going and inspecting their lands, I can make that judgement for myself, and perhaps we can all come to an appropriate compromise that will somewhat satisfy us all. It will be a short term solution to a problem, just like war, but unlike war, it will not result in bloodshed."

"Your lordship, I understand and honor your reasoning. But these men are led by an Enchanter, a man whom I have reason to believe is the last in the lineage of Jadis, a man who can therefore mean no good for any of us. To deal with him would be like sticking your arm into the cage of a tiger to feed him a slab of meat."

Eoghan smiled sadly, "If that is the case, then I pray that you are the tamer to that tiger." And that was the end of their conversation.

The next day, everyone gathered to send off Lords Eoghan and Faolan and their twenty-soldier escort. There was an air of apprehension, and prior to leaving Faolan accused Galian of spreading anti-Serpens sentiments. Galian promptly growled that he needn't spread any of his views regarding these men, that Archenland had dealt with these ruffians enough in the past two years to make their own assumptions. Faolan only shot him a hating glare before he mounted his horse.

The Archenlanders followed the Serpens Russus out of the encampment, and everyone watched until they had disappeared over the horizon. When they were gone, the Queen's attendants began the process of taking down her tent and packing her things for the journey back to Anvard. The construction workers went to their own dwellings, preparing for the moment when the royal court would leave and they could begin work again. Galian had left early, not waiting around to watch Lord Eoghan and the others march to what he was certain was their doom.

Aoife and Pericles met him in her tent a short time later. It had been the first time in days Aoife had gotten a chance to see Galian closely, and what she saw was not the look of an esteemed warrior. Instead, she saw before her a young man who looked far older than his years would tell. His skin was sallow, save for the bruise on the side of his head where Breye had struck him. He looked tired, stressed, and worn.

"Are you alright?"Aoife asked, her voice full of concern, much to the annoyance of Pericles.

"Not particularly, no,"he snapped.

"They might not kill them, you know."

"Do you have any reason to believe they won't?"

"Well,"Pericles reasoned, "they didn't kill _you_. If they were going to kill anybody, it would have been you first and foremost."

They discussed other trivial things, mostly to keep their minds from the danger that might befall their lords, and also to keep Galian as calm as possible. Queen Eleytheria left early that afternoon, but not before assuring them that were allowed to resume construction, which mayn't have been the smartest order the Queen had ever decreed (for if in fact she did grant the Serpens Russus their wish, the castle would more than likely come down), but we might excuse her for lack of judgement in a matter not as important as that of her husband trotting willingly into the unknown. Everyone was quite glad for the diversion, and Galian worked tirelessly until nightfall, until all the nervous energy and anger he had accumulated over the past forty eight hours was somewhat dispelled. He returned to his tent, received a scathing remonstration from the centaur who had seen to him before, who was not at all happy to know Galian had been out working when he should have been resting, and saw to Galian's bruises. Galian, who had suffered worse, or at least something like, was not bothered by his injuries, and after much prodding he dismissed the centaur with as much politeness as a bruised and prodded man can. He had just settled onto his cot, with a fleeting thought at supper, when someone appeared at his door.

"Is this the tent of Sir Galian?"the question floated to Galian from outside.

"Unfortunately so,"Galian replied, not removing his arm from his eyes until he heard the flap of his tent door, and the hoof-beats that belonged to a young faun.

"I've a letter for you, my lord."

Galian arose, paid the faun for his services, and directed him to a place where he might receive refreshment. The faun bowed as he handed Galian the letter, sealed with a mark Galian knew had never seen. Curious, he broke the seal and read:

_Sir Galian:_

_It is with the deepest regret that I inform you of the passing of your longtime friend and keeper of your estates, Silex Caelum. Please know that he did not die in pain, but comfortably in the night. As I am sure you would like to be present for his funeral, we shall wait for your arrival, or for word that you will not do so. Please send an answer back with our trusted messenger._

_Again, I am sincerely sorry for your loss._

_Yours truly,_

_Iuris Spondere_


	16. Chapter 16

I had to spilt this chapter in two, it was just so freakishly long. Jason, you in particular will enjoy this chapter, I think. Thank you reviewers!

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs to C.S. Lewis

Chapter 16.

Galian felt numb at the words on the page. Bless the old thing. He had never gotten over that cold. He wondered if Silex had bothered to see a centaur about it. He doubted it, Silex and most other fauns were so very stubborn about seeing a healer about anything. They could have an arrow in their chest and still refuse a "leech's" help. Guilt began to bite at Galian. If he had been there...he would have brought a centaur in whether Silex agreed with it or not. When it came to a battle of wills, Silex met his match in Galian, so Domus had always said. A strong feeling pulled him towards his farm. On the one hand, the Serpens Russus would attach any day now. On the other, it would be incredibly heartless to not be there when the faun who was like family, the last bit of family he had, was laid to rest, and Galian was sure that Aoife and Pericles would agree. And agree they did. He met them in Aoife's tent, and explain the situation to them. Aoife desperately wanted to accompany Galian, but he insisted that the castle needed her (though he had imagined that a journey alone with her wouldn't be _too_ bad). He suffered a sleepless night, and left early the next morning.

I will not bore you with the details of a trip Galian had traveled many times, and one that you have heard tell of nearly as much. This trip was quick, for Galian took nothing but his sword and a few provisions for the road, and uneventful. In a few days' time he arrived at the Dancing Lawn, and his farm on the far side.

(A/N: I know relatively little about what fauns were like in our mythology, so when I describe a faun funeral, be aware that I'm shooting from the hip.)

The house was hung with black drapes, as was custom. There were no noises to be heard from the usually bustling farm. Galian's foreman, the sheepdog who had been dubbed the General, had heard Galian's approached, and escorted him to the stables, detailing to him where Silex was laid and that the workers were permitted to work only a half a day. They entered the stables, where a rather somber-looking Filius sat. Galian patted him on the shoulder before following the General into the house and to Silex's room.

Some say, upon first seeing the dead, that they look to be asleep. Galian had never thought so. They all looked dead to him. This was how he found Silex; ashen, and unnaturally stiff. It did Galian little comfort to see the body. He only stood there a moment; his method of mourning would not be practiced until he was quite alone. He turned to those gathered and said lowly, "Noon, tomorrow. As customary."

Most of Dancing Lawn attended the funeral. While Silex himself my not have been well liked (he was indeed a horribly grumpy thing), his father and his brother had been well liked for the most part, and it more for them that many attended. Like any other event, the fauns began with a solemn dance. A flutist preceded the pyre of Silex, who was carried by six strong fauns, who not only carried the pyre, but twirled it, so that it seemed to dance along with the others. Galian followed the procession, dressed in black, remembering how Silex had once commented on the rather ritualistic way funerals were conducted in those days. His pyre was set down on a pile of tinder. There were words from fellow fauns about the remarkable nature of this particular faun (and here Galian stifled a laugh...he supposed remarkable was the best word to describe the old faun who hated the very sight of company). Another dance was performed, music and dance ceased as a moment of silence was held, then the Dance of the Flame commenced, in which one designated faun danced forward, and with a gallant motion, set fire to the tinder. Galian, never having been able to bear the sight of the flames licking at a body, dead or not, was quite glad when the funeral was over.

He was greeted, once again, by the General. The two shared common formalities as they walked to the house. Galian crossed the threshold and immediately went to stoke the fire, for it had been a misty spring day. As he warmed his hands, the General said, "My lord, Master Silex's room has remained untouched thus far. If you wish, you might go in and sort through his effects."

"Very well. I shan't need you services today, General. You may go home, if you like."

Silex's room was more than spacious for a faun. Quite the musician in his day, there were all manner of sheet music, instruments, tools to repair instruments, and books on music in his room. These all lined the shelf at the far end. To his right, as Galian walked in, was a dresser and a basin for washing set upon it. To the left of this, near the books, was a very cozy chair, with a few sheets of paper spread about it. The head of the bed was aligned along the left hand wall, with a night stand beside it and a simple lamp, a present from a dwarf-friend, on the night stand. Galian lit the candles in various places, and began sorting through books and tools and such. Having no need for instruments, he set these aside, deciding that he should give them to the fauns' school a few miles away for them to use. Silex had a few coats and scarfs and such (during the summer fauns prefer to go with as little clothing as necessary, but during the winter of course it was necessary to dress as warmly as possible). These, he decided, should go to Filius, who, being the primary financial supporter of his household, could use some new clothes. Clothes and books were the bulk of Silex's possessions, therefore it only took a few hours to get it all sorted. After calling in Filius to present him with the clothes (for which the young adolescent was quite glad) and with instructions to have a few of his kinsmen come over and deliver the books to the school, Galian set down on the bed, alone, and a little wearied.

He just so happened to look his left, where the night stand was situated. He had kept the lamp, for it was truly an exquisite piece of work, and a gift Silex had treasured and would not want sold. Galian realized he hadn't sorted through the night stand. Night stands are the sort of things that are very personal, and even now Galian held that boyhood belief that it was a very grave infraction to go through something so personal. But another boyhood sensation came over him, that of curiosity, and he reached over to pull out the drawer.

Its contents were innocent enough. A pocket watch, which Galian decided to keep, a pen and ink, a comb, and two books, one untitled, the other emblazoned with the words _The River-god of Bernuna. _The other, upon inspection, was a journal. But he soon learned that it was not Silex's diary. Silex, in the manner of many great musicians, wrote in a manner barely legible. The elegant, swooping style of the writings were reminiscent of a learned scholar. With a beating heart, Galian realized that this diary belonged to Domus.

It began simply. The diary had been a present from Domus's father. The first entry expressed happiness at finally having a way to arrange his thoughts, and the hopefulness of more entries to come. The immediate ones that followed were of no importance. One day while in town he and Silex had managed to run across a particularly disgruntled tomcat, and after prodding it with sticks, they eventually provoked the cat into attacking, and provided the young fauns with scars Domus swore would last for years. One entry in particular interested Galian. It was Domus's first festival in which he and Silex would play the flute, the Summer Festival. Domus related that, while playing, his music seemed to have an interesting effect on the other fauns. Everyone seemed mesmerized by the music he played. They moved perfectly in time to his rhythm, as if the song he played directed their very movements. As he played, he wondered at it. He had seen many dances, though he had never taken part in them, and this...he had never seen dancers react the way to music that he did. It had caused him great fear, and he immediately ceased playing. As he had feared, the dancers seemed to snap out of their revere. From that moment on, Domus swore he would never play in public again.

The entry the next day described a meeting with a centaur. The centaur, who had been present at the previous night's festivities, remarked to Domus's parents that he had never seen such talent in a young boy. His parents had remarked that, yes, the lad did possess incredible musical talent. As Domus described, the centaur grew very serious, and said to his parents, "No, my dear fauns. Not musical talent. _Magical_."

At first, Domus's father had expressed displeasure at his son becoming something so _unnatural_ as a magician. But in the end, he had relented, and allowed his son to follow the centaur, who promised that his son would be quite safe with him, and would learn techniques and theories that would allow him to become a great magician indeed. Galian could tell, by the haste of the writing and the misspelled words, that Domus's excitement was unmeasurable.

Entries following that day expressed dissappointment. Apparently the centaur, Leafwater, taught him little else but theories of magic and maybe some tunes to play on his flute that might inspire sadness, or fear, or happiness, or bravery or the like. Obviously Domus had expected to learn a great deal more, what that was, Galian didn't exactly know. All he knew was that Domus was quite homesick (he had gone to live with the centaur to further his training), and quite frustrated at his teacher.

Several pages later which may have been years, Domus described meeting a strange boy as he ventured out into the wilds to gather herbs for supper that night. The boy, in reality, was about Domus's own age, and according to Domus, he had a pack with him, that might have signified that the boy was running away from home. And here Domus wrote:

_I asked him where the devil he thought he was going. Out here, in the Western Wilds, there were precious few men, and the ones that did live out here were mostly nomadic. The other chap didn't answer me right away, in fact, he was quite rude about telling me to mind my own business. I reminded him that it was he who asked for my help, so I may ask what I wished. The boy said very well, and that he was searching for Taika, a renowned enchanter_. _I asked him that if this fellow was so renowned, why hadn't I ever heard of him. The boy became quite angry, but he merely said that if I was so ignorant, then I probably couldn't help him, and he bid me good day. I did not see him til later in the afternoon. Apparently the fellow had gotten lost, and had wandered in a circle for the better part of two hours. Having pity on the poor soul, I offered him my help. I knew full well that Leafwater was waiting for me back at the house, but frankly, I cared not for him anymore. The chap was, apparently, quite willing for a guide, and gave me a general description of the location. What he describes is rumored to be several miles to the northeast of Telmar, and though I had never been there, I was skilled enough in woodsmanship to get us there. _

_He says his name is Angra Mainyu. He was born in the north to a mother he had never met_. _He only knew that she was an enchantress, and that while she would have been his best teacher, she could not spare a moment to do so, and he was sent to her trusted servant Taika, to learn the ways of magic and sorcery. I expressed a strong desire to learn real magic, and Angra asked me if I have the stomach for the sort of magic Taika might have to teach me. When I asked what sort of magic that might be, he did not say, only that it is not what others might call 'conventional.'_ _Remembering what others, especially Leafwater, had styled to be 'conventional' magic, I am more than ready to learn from this Taika._

The journey took quite a good bit of time, a year at least. But finally, Domus and his new friend Angra Mainyu arrived at the settlement in which Taika was supposed to reside in. Their first attempt to meet with the famous magician was thwarted in this manner:

_We went straight to the keep, and requested an audience with Taika. The gatekeeper almost didn't let us in, until Angra told him he was a prince of some sort. The guard, rather impressed, led us inside, me dying to ask Angra from whence he had conjured up all that prince foolishness. He took us to Taika. Taika is a rather menacing looking fellow, when I first saw him, his eyes were rolled back in his head, and he was nearly foaming at the mouth, it was truly frightening. He came out of his trance when the guard announced us. He was almost more terrible out of his trance than he was in; at any rate, he was a rather a fierce looking man. Once again, Angra spewed his nonsense about being the son of some Queen of the Underland, of all the foolishness! Taika, however, may be more of a fool than I thought, for he grew very serious for a moment, and proclaimed that Angra would start his education as soon as possible. Taika eventually looked at me and demanded to know who I was. Angra assured him that I was a friend of his, and as eager to learn about sorcery as he was. Taika agreed to teach me._

A few days later:

_Taika says I'm far more advanced in my understanding of how magic actually _works_. However, there are aspects of magic the likes of which I have never heard. With Leafwater, I grew to understand that all magic was a byproduct of Aslan's grace; we would not be magical were it not for him. Taika tells us that the magic chooses us. It instills itself in those it feels will be the most receptive. Magic, he says, has no limits to those who are willing to push themselves to the maximum of their ability. I find myself growing quite excited at this notion, the fact that I can in fact be more powerful than any magician in history. I asked Taika today if it were possible to become more powerful than Aslan himself. Taika answered, "The power of the Lion is based on one thing and one thing alone; emotion. That weakness was exposed long ago, and the lion never fully returned to power again."_

"_But didn't he defeat the White Witch?" I asked him._

_I had never seen Taika so angry, nor do I wish to do so again. Taika only had to narrow his eyes, and suddenly I felt a burning all over my body. It intensified with Taika's stare, and presently I was rolling about on the floor, the pain unbearable. It only lessened a bit as Taika came to me, picked me up by my throat, and hissed, "How dare you dishonor the name of our most sacred Lady! For your insolence, boy, you shall pay!" And with that, he called for a stone knife, threw me to the ground, and cut off my tail..._

A quick realization came to Galian. He had never noticed it as a child, but no, Domus, unlike so many other fauns, did not have a tail...

Domus was put through several more days of torture at the hands of Taika, with Angra looking on. This torture lasted only a few days, maybe a week, then the lessons resumed, as if nothing had ever happened. But Domus never forgot the lesson, and from that point on, Aslan's name was never mentioned, and he learned to refer to the White Witch as Taika did, calling her "The White Lady," "the Great Enchantress," or "our Sacred Mother," among many other reverent titles. One article depicted Domus's struggle with dealing with the lessons he had learned from his father, lessons taught to anyone who called himself a worthy Narnian, and those taught by Taika, who time and time again showered with adoration a lady Domus had been raised to believe was the ultimate enemy.

_There is no teaching regarding Aslan. Though Taika had admitted before that Aslan_ _did in fact have power of a sort, he has never addressed the issue since that awful day. I do not bring the subject up to him, though recently I asked him if it wouldn't be prudent to learn the ways of our enemy, that we may better understand his power when we go into battle with him. Taika only pointed out to me that if I were to fully master the magic he had to teach me, there would be no need to learn of my enemy's tricks. _

_We learn of Queen Jadis quite often. Due to my costly error, Taika and Angra have prohibited me from mentioning her by name; I am to refer to her as "My Sacred Mother," for it was she that mastered the great power_. _She smote her enemies with the flick of a wand, she ruled Narnia with an iron fist. She was the true keeper of life, she was able to choose in a second which of her subjects lived or died. She was feared and respected. And powerful. Oh, the power...I cannot help but imagine what I would do with her sort of power. Oh, good things, of course. I would have to become King first, so that I may effectively use them, but it shouldn't be too hard. Who would not want someone with the powers of a god to rule their country? I could lay waste to Calormen and Telmar, so that no wars need ever be fought again. I could call up wind, rain, snow, sun, whatever my subjects desired. There would never be a bad harvest or drought again. Food would be plentiful, no one would starve. The economy would flourish, so that no one would be poor, everyone would have a roof over their head and clothes on their backs, and jobs, if they wished. _

_Of course, Narnia has always been a country to be ruled by the Sons of Adam. But as I look back, what good have they ever done? Men have only gotten us into trouble in the past. They start wars, their farming skills are awful, really, they're more given to stupidity and drunkenness and general idiocy that has time and time again staved off glory that I know Narnia is capable of. Men are hot-headed, stubborn beings. Now, if fauns ruled Narnia...no one knows Narnia better than fauns. We were made of Narnian earth, we have never called any other place home other than Narnia (well, some fauns live in Archenland, but for the most part we are indigenous to Narnia). As for man, legend has it that Aslan brought him from galaxies far away. Man is not even of this world! Why should it be that HE gets to rule?! Aslan has made a mistake in placing all his trust in men. _

_I have made my decision. When I have fully developed my powers, I shall return to Narnia and take up the rule that should rightfully belong to the fauns. And, oh, what a ruler I will be!_

From that moment on, Galian read, Domus showed much less resistance to Taika's teachings, though as time progressed, they grew far darker than Galian could ever imagine. Both of Taika's pupils were taught to take total possession of their subjects. They were taught how to blend in with their surrounding environment, so that they may appear to be something they weren't. They learned ways in which they might spy upon others from miles and miles away, and were told that with work, they needn't be in the same _country_ to engage in espionage. They learned how the flick of a wrist might break a man's arm, and the bat of an eyelash might freeze or burn anyone who dared to test a wizard's wrath. They learned to call inanimate objects to life and do their bidding, learned even to call up the dead, and, most importantly of all, they learned the appropriate way to offer up sacrifices to the Sacred White Lady. They learned the history of the Lady herself, how her mother, Lilith, was thrown from paradise because she refused to submit to Adam, her husband. They learned of her ancestors, titled demons by Adam and his children, who married giants, and stormed the earth waging war on the children of the one who had cast her away. They learned that one of the daughters of Lilith was taken away by Lilith herself to another world, where she reigned as queen. They learned of the manner in which Jadis was brought to Narnia, and how she fiercely drove out the Lion's people (mostly Sons of Adam, who had found their way into _that_ world as well) and became Queen during the most prolific years in Narnia history. They then learned of four Sons and Daughters of Adam, who invaded Narnia and provoked a war that resulted in the unseating of the White Lady. They sniggered as Taika related to them the folly of those barbaric Kings and Queens, who foolishly thought they had vanquished the last of Jadis. Thanks to her devoted subjects, Jadis's inexorable name lived on, and though it took centuries, her ancestor, the Green Lady she was called, conquered the Underworld and was set to retake Narnia for her own when once again the cause was thwarted by the minions of that awful Lion.

And then, so suddenly, they came to their last task. Taika, an old man by that time, gathered both his students, so young in age but so powerful in mind, and gave them one final task. They were told the story of Aneirin, which you know, but as it was so many chapters ago, you might be satisfied with a quick reminder. Aneirin, who had been a devoted servant of the Snow Queen, had, after several experimentations, created a potion that not only healed all wounds, as had that potion of the young human girl that succeeded Queen Jadis as one of the rulers of Narnia, but also granted eternal life. They were told that if they found the all the ingredients to the juice that could cure any ailment, they would only be a few steps from finding the potion that would grant immortality. The first to bring the potion replicating that of Queen Lucy's would be the most powerful Sorcerer of all. The other would do the Sorcerer's bidding.

It was here that Domus and Angra Mainyu became bitter enemies. Each armed with a copy of the potion, they set about to gather the ingredients. They did their best to sabotage the other's journey; when Angra's horse broke its leg, Domus found that all the food in his pack had summarily disappeared (no matter, though, for he could always make it rain, and was quite skilled in woodsmanship at this time to find food). When it became too much of a hassle to stop and light a fire, Domus ate his food raw. The weather, meanwhile, was quite unlike anything anyone had ever seen. It would rain one day, snow the next, then fog, then sun, then lightening. But as the two drew closer to Narnia, the sabotage stopped; they concentrated more on remaining stealthy. The first item on the list-the scalp of a Narnian virgin.

Domus remembered how he shook the first time he stole into an old farmhouse, and found a young girl sleeping on her bed. She wasn't particularly beautiful, he remembered, but all the same, she was rather peaceful in her sleep, not knowing that her life would end in a few short minutes. He almost faltered, then, in his mind's eye, he could see Angra walking calmly into a bedroom miles away, slitting the throat of the girl he had chosen, and scalping her without a moment's hesitation. Knowing he could not, would not let Angra win, he set about his business.

It took some time to gather all the ingredients, a few years, at least. Some were simple; the eyes of an owl, the toes of a cat, a bit of horn from a stag. Part of the potion called for a piece of the throne of Queen Jadis, which was particularly hard to find, for the Narnians who had survived the Hundred Years of Winter were keen to have the castle that had held them in fear for so long destroyed. Domus, who'd had good reason to believe that upon burning down her castle, the most sacred possessions of the most Sacred Sorceress were swallowed by the earth, and all one had to do was dig deep enough, and he might find it. It took several months of hard work, but in the end, Domus broke through the ground into a chamber of some sort. Upon lighting a torch and dropping into the hole, he found that his suspicions were right. He also found that he had been a great fool, for his feet had not reached the ground when from above Angra Mainyu descended.

The battle that ensued held Galian, himself a veteran of many battles, completely captivated. Domus found that the entire time that he had been digging, Angra Mainyu had kept a watch on him, gathering all other ingredients to the potion that he could while keeping his mind's eye on Domus, and when he had learned that Domus was close to breaking into the chamber, he stole upon him quite unnoticed. In other words, while Domus had wasted time digging his hole, Angra Mainyu had gathered anything else the potion might have called for, all the while using the powers he had learned to spy on Domus and sneak upon him at the opportune time.

The fighting began. Neither had learned to fight with a weapon, and they did not begin to use any now. They cast powerful freezing and burning spells that left Angra's hand black and Domus's fur completely singed off. Spells were cast that simulated the stab of a knife, though none was ever wielded by either party, and left every hint of a knife wound on the body. At one point or another both were resorted sinking to the ground, gasping for oxygen, until they could create some sort of diversion that would aid them in combating the spell that caused suffocation. They burned, they stabbed, they suffocated, they battered, they bruised, they spoke all the incantations they had ever learned, though neither laid so much as a finger on the other.

And then, Angra gained the upper hand. His incantation to cause that burning sensation Domus hated so much became so powerful that Domus himself caught on fire. He screamed as the flames licked about him, and through them he could see Angra calmly but quickly walk up to the throne and break off a piece. The fire was extinguished, and, weak, Domus looked up at Angra, who said with a nasty grin, "You look as if you could use a bit of water..." In a flash, water began to pour into the chamber, from where, Domus did not know. Angra left the chamber in a flash, leaving Domus to strive with all his might to rise from his position on the floor, but was so weak (or so defeated) that he could not. Water filled the chamber quickly, and in a matter of ten minutes the entire chamber was full. Domus was risen to the top, but as hard as he struggled, he could not pull himself to the opening he had made.

And now came a passage that I'll let Domus himself describe to you.

_Dying is nothing like they tell you in the stories. You don't really fall asleep; the life just leaves you. It floats about in the nothingness until it finds a place to rest. My soul, it seems, took a great deal of time to find such a place. Or maybe it took no time at all. Time really doesn't matter to nothingness. All I know is that eventually I found myself in a barren wasteland. The earth under me was a dark gray, the sky above me was a lighter shade of that color. The wind made such a ruckus, it whistled loudly in my ears, though it did not blow me off my feet. There was a strong mist settled about, and I could not see too far in any direction. I called out, but I knew no one would hear me, for the wind was so loud. I coughed, and water came up. I found that I really could not breathe properly, that I felt as though a strong suffocation spell was being cast against me. Though, if my memory served me correctly, water was never involved with that spell. It occurred to me that it might have something to do with the way I died. In horror, I wondered if I was to relive my last moments over and over again. _

_Quite suddenly, I saw a light in the distance. It was a white light, purer than any light I had ever seen.__It hurt my eyes severely, and I found that I could not look at it, though I could sense it getting closer. As it did, a fear came over me; what was this coming to collect me? By the time it was withing twenty yards of me, I had fallen to the ground in horror. Presently, I could hear it breathe as it stood just before me. I had a fleeting thought that I might drive the accursed thing away, whatever it was, but I found that I could muster none of the things I had learned while I was alive._

"_You have no power h_ere, _faun," the voice told me. The anger in it struck every nerve in my body, and I cried out in fear. I could not look it in the face, the light was so bright._

"_Who are you?" I called, "if you are to eat me, I demand to know who you are!" But any pride I might have, any delusion I might have entertained that I might meet my end nobly or with dignity was ended with the terrifying roar of the beast. No, he was not just any beast, he was a lion. He was _the_ Lion. _

"_My son,"he said to me, stern, and a bit sad as well, so sad that I began to cry at the thought that it was I that had hurt him, "why have you abandoned me?"_

"_Aslan,"I answered, though I did not feel worthy to speak his name, "I wanted to be a Sorcerer, with powers like yours." He growled further, increasing my tears and fears. I prostrated myself before him, until he told me to look into his eyes. I did, and saw a succession of events. I saw my father and Silex, and how they cried when Leafwater told them I had run away. I saw the number of men who had died viciously at the hand of Taika as they grew so close to the area in which we had lived, in search for me. I saw that Father soon became one of those slaughtered ones. I saw the souls of animals I had killed in cold blood, so that I might be able to use their bones for my spells. I saw the face of the girl I had killed so that I might obtain her scalp. And finally, I saw the White Witch herself, with the blood of so many Narnians on her hands, and, to my horror, I saw as she licked the blood off of her hands until they were white as snow once again. I saw, in horror, as she killed Aslan, good and holy Aslan, on that table on that cold, cold night. I saw myself, with all my power and glory, as I led a band of followers to Cair Paravel. I saw myself slaughtering King Rilian and his family, the princes and princesses no more than five years old. I saw as my rain washed away soil, as it spoiled crops, as my people became angry with me, and as I executed them for the sole reason that their complaining annoyed me. I had all who opposed me killed. I invaded Archenland just to track down my enemies, and eventually laid it to waste. But I did not stop there; I saw Calormen and Telmar fall, then the Lone Islands, then Galma, then Terebithia, then the Seven Islands, then any island between Narnia and Aslan's country. I found myself to be ruler of the world, but an unhappy one, of an unhappy world. And, at the end of my vision, I saw the power drive me mad, until I could not control it, until it consumed me, until I was killing anything that was left; friends, enemies, things that had done me no wrong. And finally, I saw myself, replete with a deadly power that had consumed me, as I ran off the highest tower in Cair Paravel, and met my end on the rocks of the seashore below._

_Aslan finally awoke me from my vision, and for the first time in, oh, so many years, I became afraid of the power, repulsed by it, ashamed that I fell victim to the delusion so easily. But mostly, I felt sorrowful that I had betrayed the one who had given me the power in the first place, the one who had instilled that love of learning every aspect of it as a child. I had failed Aslan, and for that, I knew that I should be cast into the very pits of the lake of fire I had learned as child was specially reserved for the enemies of Aslan._

"_My son," came Aslan's reply, as if he had heard all my thoughts, "are you proud of the life you made for yourself?" _

_How could he ask me such a thing? "No, Aslan, I am not. I betrayed you with the gifts you had given me. I am so sorry."_

"_Then you repent?"_

"_Given the chance, Lord of All, I would take it all back."_

"_I fear it may not be so easy as that. You have spent many years wronging my people and my name. Will you now go back to Narnia and undo the evil you have caused?"_

"_Is it possible, my King?"_

"_It is possible, but not in the way you might imagine. There is one ingredient that Angra Mainyu lacks to complete Aneirin's Potion; an apple from the Garden of Life, the garden from which the Tree of Protection is derived. You must, at all costs, see to it that he does not learn of the location to that garden, nor how he may enter it."_

"_How am I to learn of its location, Sire, so that I might protect the garden?" _

"_You may not know of its location, Domus. There are very few that do. There is only one alive that knows. Your task is to find this one who knows before Angra Mainyu can."_

"_Sir, if you please, how shall I know it is him that has this knowledge?"_

_Aslan bent low, breathed in me, and said in a voice just above a whisper, "Use the magic _I_ have given you."_


	17. Chapter 17

I offer yet ANOTHER apology. Can't chalk this up to anything else but laziness. I've probably lost everybody, but for the few still with me, this chapter is dedicated to you.

P.S. Smiley face person...give me your email so we can chat, and I can answer your questions...

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Chapter 17.

According to his recollection, Domus soon found himself waking on the ground, shivering with cold. His powers were gone, those he had learned under Taika anyway, but he found he did not miss them. He felt like a faun renewed. His body was wrought with the scars from the burning he had received at the hands of Angra Mainyu. He thought for a moment that Aslan might have purged him of his scars, then he realized that of course, they were to serve as reminder of the temptation he had given into once, and what would happen to him if he did so again. But he had little time to dwell upon this fact, for he must soon embark upon the task Aslan had given him.

He knew from his history (Aslan had blessed him with a love of history, as he soon realized) that the Garden of Life was said to lay beyond the Western Borders of Narnia, over forests and mountains, lakes and rivers. He started that way, stopping in Chippingford for a night to learn what he could about Areli, for it occurred to Domus that since he had been to one to disrupt the completion of that deadly potion which contained the secrets to immortality, he might give Domus a clue as to how to do so again. He found out from the residents of Chippingford that Areli had been a carpenter in his day, an occupation sacred enough in its own right. You see, carpenters and anyone else skilled in woodwork had to be particularly good at spotting trees that contained the souls of dryads and ones that didn't. Even when they could pick out the right sort of tree, they paid special homage to it before crafting it to serve their needs. All wood was treated with respect by the carpenters, and it was this, and this alone, that saved them from the anger of the dryads. So you must understand that it took a very special person to be a carpenter, and Areli had been such a person in that area. Areli was sort of a local saint, from the manner in which he saved them all from Aneirin. Several maidens had met their end before Areli had intervened. Every year, during the second week of spring, a feast day was observed in honor of Areli's service.

No one really knew where Areli's house had been, or who his descendents might be. Rumor had it he married a very lovely maiden, and had lived in the outskirts of the village in order to avoid what fanfare he could. Domus set out to explore the surrounding areas, in search for the house that might have once been Areli's. He never questioned the innate feeling that Areli had something to do with the location of the potion. He had a gut feeling, and, while he found it difficult to trust in something so intangible as a gut feeling, he was completely unable to ignore it, and chalked it up to Aslan's doing.

It suddenly occurred to Domus that Angra might, once again, be following him. Sure enough, he could spot what he was sure was a shadow, or a rather unnatural looking tree or rock. Thankful that Aslan would let him use for good the skill he had learned to do in evil, Domus set a trap.

Knowing he had superior woodsman ship, and remembering a story his father had once told him, Domus, for about a week, led Angra all about the forest. While doing so, he used a skill he hadn't used in many, many years. He whistled. He sang tunes of wildness, disorder, and confusion. As he walked, he could see many dumb squirrels on the branches of trees, looking a tad bit disoriented. Joyfully, he realized it was working. If Angra was nearby, he was, hopefully, just as confounded as those squirrels. Hiding in a bit of brush, Domus continued to whistle, and presently, Angra came stumbling along, like a drunk man with a fever. He looked infuriated, his face was red, and it appeared he was trying hard to combat the spell, losing, 

and becoming very angry about it. When Domus rose from his hiding spot, he became angrier still. But Domus had complete control over him. His tune compelled Angra to follow. The pair walked through the forest, under ancient trees and through prickly brush, alongside a gorge. Keeping his distance, Domus steered Angra to the side of a ravine, and with one brutal tone, pushed Angra over the side.

The fall, unfortunately, did not kill Angra. Nor had Domus expected it to. Angra had fallen fifteen feet into a little cave, the opening at the top the only means of escaping. Domus could hear Angra screaming curses at the top of his lungs, echoed horribly by the cave. With no means to cover up the hole, Domus vanished quickly. He knew it was only a matter of time before Angra figured out a way to get out of that cave, and it would be none too pleasant if he did. With time against him, Domus set out to find the home of Areli once more, with no more idea of its whereabouts than when he first started.

He felt completely lost. Looking about in a bewildered manner, he realized that the trees all looked very much alive. He could just see their faces, large noses, eyes, and mouths, all what we would call misshapen but quite the normal sizes for trees. Approaching one, a slender birch, he said, as politely as possible, "Ahem...excuse me?"

Immediately, the dryad appeared from her tree, materializing from it as a storm appears in the sky (though a great deal faster). She was beautiful, though her face was slightly hardened. Her hair was the green of her leaves, and her tunic was the silvery-black color of her bark (and may indeed have been bark itself). When she spoke, her voice was a melodious sound that Domus could appreciate. However, the melodious voice that spoke it asked a very delicate question.

"I saw you," it said, "you pushed that man over the cliff. Why did you do that?"

"I-I-he was trying to get to something. Something that if he gets it, could destroy all of Narnia."

"Oh?"the tree asked, quite concerned, "and what is this thing?"

Domus squirmed that much more, "I myself am not quite sure. I do know that it may be in the possessions of the descendents of a man called Areli. Have you heard of him?"

"Why, yes," she answered, "I know of him, and his family. All the trees here know of him. He was a strange man, that Areli. He took trees that weren't alive and turned them to furniture. I always found it rather morbid; Father said it was the natural order of life."

Domus began to tremble with excitement, "Do you...do you know where his house is?"

"Why, yes. I can take you there, if you like. It's quite a walk, though."

"I don't mind!"Domus nearly shouted, falling into step behind the dryad. He felt it only proper to introduce himself. The dryad pleasantly responded, "I am called Meliai. I do so adore fauns. They are the only ones who appreciate dancing as much as dryads."

"Yes,"Domus agreed, and the conversation dwelt on the particular dances the other had participated in (mostly a one sided conversation, for Domus had spent very little time dancing these past years). Soon, however, he was able to steer talk back to Areli, "What do you know of his descendents now?"

"Rather reclusive, they are. His descendent now is not a woodcutter, as his ancestors. He mostly hunts and gathers, and provides for his wife and son."

Silence fell as Domus contemplated how he expected to march into the home of a strange man and announce that therein lay some terrific secret that might mean the end of Narnia if disclosed to the wrong persons. He needn't have bothered, however. For as they approached a 

clearing, his newfound companion announced that something did not seem quite right. When asked what that was, she only replied that she wasn't sure. They broke through the branches and bramble and came upon a small cottage that Domus, had it been a less stressful situation, would have commented on its quaintness. It was all wood, of course, the most abundant resource lying around. A small well sat in front on a lawn that was a little tangled with overgrown grass and branches that had fallen from the trees. A small lean-to to the right of the house served as a work shop, and Domus could see hammers, saws, and the like lying about in it. Over the doorway of the home was the family crest; an axe with a tree to the right and a stream to the left. Domus might have asked its meaning had he not had more important matters at hand. He called out to the house, but no one answered. He and Meliai approached, calling still, but hearing nothing save the birds in the trees. Meliai seemed to understand their meaning, however, and went around the house. There a most horrible smell greeted them, followed by an equally horrible sight.

The family apparently had owned one cow. Had, being the key point. Now, they saw the charred remains of a large cow in the backyard, and beside it, burnt remains of what may have been a human body. The bones still smoked slightly.

"Disease,"Domus's companion surmised, "it has hit many animals in these parts. The cow must have contracted it, and it spread to the family."

Domus shuddered, but now felt no qualms about entering the household. Like the outside it was very simply done. There was one large room that served as sitting room and kitchen combined. . A stove sat in the corner, with tables and chairs besides it, and directly across from this, another set of chairs, which served as the sitting room. To the left of the back door was a ladder that led up to the loft. And in the far left corner was a door way that led into the master bedroom. In this, Domus noticed with horror, was the body of a woman, her skin an ashen gray save for the dark spots of infection that dotted her skin. Her eyes were open, and already scavengers were picking at them. Domus shooed these various maggots and birds away, and very reverently closed the woman's eyes, not before covering his hands with his handkerchief. He lifted his scarf to his mouth and nose, not wanting to contract whatever disease that might have been lurking about. He quickly exited the house, warning the dryad of its contents. She, being the compassionate being she was, concluded that they must give the woman a proper burial, to which Domus of course agreed. They both found shovels, and set about digging the grave for the woman, and for her husband as well. As they dug, Domus wondered at his next move. Aslan had told him that there was one alive who knew of the location of the Garden. He had been so sure that it would have been one of Areli's descendants. Had he been wrong? Frustrated, he thought that if he had been, that he had wasted so much time already, and that now he did not know where he should look. He felt a sense of hopelessness. Inwardly, he cried _Aslan! Help me!_

They finished, and Meliai went inside to fetch the body, leaving her new friend to his thoughts, which she sensed where grave. However, she felt compelled to interrupt him with a shout, "Faun, er, Domus! Come quick!"

He ran inside, and saw that which caused her so alarm. At the foot of the bed (he did not know how he could have missed it) was a cradle. And in that cradle was the most alert baby boy one ever did see, alert and crying, and no wonder, for Domus judged by the rib cage so easily outlined on the infant that he had not eaten in days. He was a year old, at the very least. As the dryad rushed to find something for him to eat, Domus stooped to further inspect the child. There wasn't much to him, he was really just a baby, with the tiny feet and hands and nose that drove all humans to ridiculous fits of affection. Domus, while quite enchanted with the baby boy, soon noticed a piece of parchment that stuck out from underneath the tiny mattress. Handing the boy to Meliai, who had found sustenance, he pulled the mattress up. All manner of wrinkled, discarded paper lay underneath, in no particular order. He smoothed the pages out, and, with great joy, realized what it was he saw. Not only were they directions to the Garden, but several pages written by Aneririn himself telling the reader exactly how to make the potion named for him.

"What have you there?"Meliai asked, still cradling the child.

"Exactly what I came for!"Domus replied, triumphantly, tucking the lists into the pouch at his belt.

"Good," she said cheerily, "and what about him?"

Domus peered at the child, who seemed placated for now. He had bright, very serious, blue eyes. As they met Domus's own, the faun felt a stirring in him he had never felt before. Never had anyone's eyes pierced his soul like this child's had, save Aslan's. Never had he felt a tug of his heart as he felt now.

"I'll take care of him,"Domus said, surprising even himself.

Meliai cocked her head, "Why?"

And Domus himself couldn't answer. He only knew that this child was the last of Areli's descendants, and it was his job to protect him. But not only his job...it was his wish. He wanted to take care of that boy.

Meliai, seeing the finality of his decision, handed the baby over to him, and the two exited the cottage, having no reason to remain. No sooner had they done so than Meliai began to shake, and became very rigid, turning from her mossy green to blue, then to white, til she frosted over altogether, and the strong wind that had picked up shattered her to bits. Beyond her broken remains stood a smirking Angra Mainyu.

Domus placed the baby just inside the door of the cottage and locked it, though in the back of his mind, he knew it was a foolish gesture if he could not himself keep Angra away from the house.

"So you got out, then?"Domus asked, keeping his back to the door.

Angra smirked still, "I do not know how you survived, goatfoot, but I intend to make sure you're dead for good this time."

"It's no use,"Domus replied, "I'm to stay until I complete my task."

"Which is?"

"To protect Narnia from you."

Angra laughed outright at this, "You protect Narnia from me? We both know I am a better wizard than you could ever hope to be."

"I don't want to be a wizard, Angra. I don't need spells to defeat you."

Angra's smirk melted away to bewilderment, "What the devil are you talking about?"

"I don't need magic. I have Aslan."

Angra froze and stared at Domus in disbelief. He shuddered, but seemed to regain his composure as he said, "Well, where is your Aslan? Why doesn't he come to save you?"

"He does not come at my command. I am his servant, he is not mine."

"Poetic in nature,"Angra sneered, "but it does not help you much. I will kill you, and I will take the boy. I know as well as you that the secret of the Garden of Life lies with the last descendant of Areli."

Domus flushed, "He's only an infant, Angra. He can't help you much."

"Not now, no. But as he grows older, he will learn to serve me. And he will do as I command, or else."

Domus flushed further, "You will not take him. You will never find the Garden of Life."

There was a flash of light, and Domus found himself sprawled on his backside. Angra had already kicked in the door. Domus tried to rise but found he had been bound with invisible bonds. Angra presently exited the house carrying a screaming baby, looking slightly peeved at the racket the child was making. He clutched the boy by the throat, in an attempt to cut off his breath so that he might stop crying. Domus watched as the boy turned blue, and desperately, he cried, "NO! I have the papers! Angra! They have the formula for Aneirin's potion, and directions to the Garden!"here Angra froze, and released his hold on the boy's throat. Domus continued, "I will give them to you, but please, do not hurt the boy!"

If you can imagine the smile the devil might give you if you agreed to make a deal with him, you might have a close image of the evil grin that appeared on Angra Mainyu's face. With a nod of his head, the invisible bonds fell away, and Domus shakily stood. He pulled the papers from his pouch, and very reluctantly handed them to Angra Mainyu. In a flash, Angra had thrown the child into the air, snatched the papers, and disappeared. Domus only threw himself under the child just in time. He was relieved to see the boy was not harmed.

For a moment, he sat upon the ground, rocking the child. Tears poured from his face. He had let Aslan down. Angra was now on his way to the Garden. He would get the apple, he would make the potion, he would conquer the world. Domus had had the one opportunity to stop it all from happening. And yet, as he looked into the face of the baby boy, eyes wide and staring about curiously, as if wondering what else would happen on this most exciting of days, he knew he would have made the decision a dozen times over.

He did not hear the approach. Indeed, the tread of the Lion was so soft that the breath of the wind might have overcome the noise His footsteps would make. Domus was surprised, and yet not too surprised, to see Aslan standing above him. Fear welled up inside the faun as he sat there, holding the child, waiting for Aslan's wrath.

But it did not come. Instead, he bent low, and kissed the forehead of the shaking faun, and said gaily, "Well done."

"But...but Aslan,"Domus stuttered, rising to his feet, "I-I gave Angra Mainyu the formula. I failed to do what you asked of me."

Aslan looked him in the eye, seriously, and yet, a little amused too. "Come with me," was all he said.

Domus followed him round to the other side of the house. Aslan led him to an old, gnarled tree that looked as if it had been dead for a long, long time. Domus wondered that Areli's descendants had not cut it down long ago.

"Do you know what this tree is, Domus?"

"No, Lord, I do not."

"It is the Tree of Protection. Or, rather, it was. It has long since died. All that remains is the shell. Areli left a strong legacy for his children, but it was not a legacy that could be overshadowed by _his_ ancestor. In the beginning, King Frank I asked his youngest son, Arthur, to be the caretaker of the Tree of Protection. It was Arthur's duty to ensure that the tree was not destroyed by the followers of Jadis, so that Narnians might enjoy years of prosperity. Arthur built his home beside the tree, and raised his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren to love and protect this tree.

The tree eventually died, and Jadis was able to invade Narnia. She tried repeatedly to have the tree cut down and Arthur's descendants killed, but her spies were never able to locate them. She herself knew, but still could not stand to be within a mile of the tree, though it was dead. She soon afterwards placed Narnia in a perpetual state of winter, but of course, things already dead cannot die again, and the tree outlasted the hundred years, as did Arthur's descendants. Jadis and her pureblooded descendants could not go near this tree. And now, faun, climb this tree, and bring me what you find there."

Domus did as he was told. It was really a magnificent tree for climbing, and its branches were so thick that a person could sit comfortably for hours, if they wished. One particular branch was wide enough for Domus to stand upon. Where this branch connected to the tree was a large hollow. Inside this hollow was mulch and dead leaves, and a few caterpillars. However, underneath these leaves and insects was a tin box. His hear thumping, Domus retried the tin box and took it to Aslan, who instructed him to open it. Inside was a booklet, tied together with a string, written in a chaotic, hardly legible manner, one that you might say was the scrawl of a mad man...

"Aslan..."Domus began shakily.

"Areli was no fool. He knew quite well that what he had in his possession would be the object of desire for so many of the Witch's followers. He made a false copy of the map and hid the original in this tree. Angra Mainyu is half human, and therefore the Tree does not affect him as it would his mother. However, his blessing is also his curse, for as a man, he is prone to the worst of traits that haunt men: greed, lust for power, and impatience, all of which cause him to overlook every day, ordinary objects that, if he inspected them further, he would find them to be more meaningful than he knew. This tree is an example of that. What you and I see as the saving grace of Narnia is just and old, gnarled tree to him."

Aslan, dare we say it, smiled to the perplexed faun as he continued, "Domus, were you not always taught that emotion is weakness of the soul? And that it damages the ability of a sorcerer to effectively cast his spells?" when Domus answered in the affirmative, he continued, "You, Domus, followed your heart. You chose to save a helpless child from certain pain and death, and it was a decision well made. But Angra Mainyu's possession of the false documents is not his only misfortune. Very few, Domus, may enter my garden. Because he protected the garden, as well as the Tree of Protection, Areli and his descendants have a standing invitation. This boy is currently the only one alive who may enter the Garden and pick the fruit from its trees. Any other who tries will not live a moment after they step outside the gates. If Angra Mainyu wants an apple from my garden, he will need this boy. As it is, this boy will one day be the deciding factor in Narnia's future. You must, at all costs, protect him, hide him from Angra Mainyu, until that day comes when he might fulfill his legacy."

Galian turned to the final page. There, he saw, was a letter to him:

_Galian, I am so sorry. I am so sorry for what you had to read. I hope you do not think any worse of me hereafter. I was a fool. An awful hypocrite. This is an awful burden to put on you. I would not have wished it on you for the world. Believe me when I say, I did not take you because I had to. I took you because I loved you, because you captured my heart that very first day. When you were a boy, I did all I could for you. As a man, I have now given you all the information _

_I have that you might need to defeat this Sorcerer. Understand, Galian, that Angra Mainyu is very dangerous, and very well aware of the fact that he is dangerous. He has inherited the Witch's obsession with dominating Narnia. He will not stop until Narnia is his. Obsession is a strong driving force, and it makes Angra a brutal fighter. He will clear obstacles as quickly and efficiently as possible so that he might reach his goal. This also makes him impatient and short-tempered. You, as a warrior, know the benefits of making your opponent lose his temper. It is my feeling that, when he is in a rage, then is the best time to kill him. _

_Again, do not underestimate him. He knows spells most warriors would die to have. Impermeable to regular weapons, invisible armor, the ability to quite literally become a shadow. Only a magician equally skilled or Aslan himself can help you stop this man. I pray you understand that you have the latter. If Aslan has not abandoned a sinner like me, someone who wholly and completely turned his back on Him, then He shall surely be with you to the end of your days. Place your trust in Him, Galian, and you shall destroy Angra Mainyu._

_These are my final words to you, my son. Courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is the utilizing of it. Courage is being afraid, but not letting that stop you from doing what is right. I know you are afraid. But you are also courageous, and you have the strength of Aslan to guide you. Against that, no enemy can stand. I love you, my son, and I am so very proud of you. _

Galian wiped away his tears, snapped the book shut, and ran to the library. There he found a pen and a few pieces of parchment, on which he scribbled a few hasty words. From there he went to his room, packed the few possessions he had brought with him, put on some spare armor he'd kept at home for emergencies, and raced to the stable, where he saddled Dancer with his own hands. Leaving a dwarf in charge, he directed Dancer westward, to the hollow that led to Griffle's underground castle.

Tuck still stood guard at the entrance. He was greatly puzzled at Galian's appearance, and a little affronted at the impolite greeting, "Call your fellows to arms."

"What?"Tuck asked, "Why?"

"Do it!"was all Galian said, as he raced up to Griffle's quarters. He wasn't stopped until he reached the end of his journey, Griffle's office, where two sentries stood guard and refused to let Galian in without an appointment and so heavily armed. An argument ensued that must have caught the attention of the great dwarf inside, for he threw open the door and demanded that the ruckus stop.

"You, boy!"he cried out to Galian, "are you always this rude to your benefactors?"

"Griffle, I must speak with you. There are enemies about!"

"Enemies? Of what nature?"

"The most evil sort, sir."

Griffle wasn't inclined to believe him, or else, wasn't so sure what to think. Nevertheless, as arrogant as he might have been, he never ignored the warnings of a fellow comrade, and invited Galian inside.

"Now," he told the young man, after refreshments were sought, "would you like to tell me why the devil you saw fit to damn near break down my door and insult my guards?"

Galian gave Griffle the abridged version of what you already know. Griffle crossed his arms, huffing, "And so, Narnia seeks the aid of the dwarves once again! The country would be quite lost without us, I fear."

"I'm not here on behalf of the Narnian government. I'm here on behalf of its citizens. They will all die if someone does not stand and protect them."

"And why should I fear this Sorcerer? I have strength and might enough. If I were invaded, I could outlast his army for a hundred years within these walls."

"Griffle, this is no ordinary man. This is no ordinary rebellion. This is the most evil person ever to walk our lands since the White Witch."

Griffle seemed surprised, even as much as he tried to cover it, "That's rather a bold statement."

"Griffle, I'm not asking you to call out your army. I'm not saying Narnia is on the march just yet. I'm asking you to be vigilant. I'm asking you to protect your fellow Narnians. These men will steal upon you when you least expect it."

"Very well. If the threat is as you say, then I shall place my army on alert."

"Good. One more thing."

Here Galian withdrew the papers he had scribbled on before. Almost reluctantly, he handed them to Griffle, who read aloud:

_I, Galian, Knight of Narnia, Baron of the Dancing Lawn, do hereby relinquish all land and property previously held under my name, to Griffle, nobleman of Narnia and Lord of the Miners' Guild, and charge him with the protection and maintenance of aforementioned lands, in the Good name of our Lord, Aslan, High King of all High Kings, and the Son of the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea. _

Griffle looked up from the paper, "You're mad."

"I am not, hard as it may be to believe. I can't take care of my farm anymore, or the inhabitants of the Dancing Lawn. It is my right and duty to assign protection of them to you. But Griffle," he added, "please do me this one favor, and allow my workers to keep their positions on the farm. Place whoever you like in my house, but persuade him to allow the workers to remain. They have been loyal to me all these years, and I will not have them turned away from jobs they so desperately need."

Griffle nodded solemnly, all his arrogance gone for the moment, "Very well. I shall do as you ask. And what is to become of our legendary Sir Galian?"

"I wish I knew, lord. I wish I knew."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18.

Three days later Galian found himself at Diarko Pygros once again. He had spent a hasty few days alerting all towns on the southern border of Narnia to the danger of the Sorcerer, and trusted that they would spread the word to their fellow Narnians. He hadn't slept much, but had been forced to allow Dancer to do so, but woke her early each morning for a grueling day's ride. He expected her to stop in the middle of a trail at any moment, and refuse to go a step further, but luckily she did not, though she did remain cross with Galian for some time.

It was still early morning when he arrived at Diarko Pygros. A heavy mist hung about the lands, a mist that made Galian terribly uncomfortable. He didn't see the sentries until they were nearly ten feet away. They came to attention quickly, saying, "Nasty fog, ain't it sir?"

"Indeed. Are there any hares about?"

The question came as a surprise to both guards, "Hares, sir?"

"Yes, are there any nearby?"

One guard looked at the other and murmured, "Well, I suspect so..."

Galian proceeded without another word. He handed Dancer off to the marshal of the stables, and instructed one of the stable boys to send for all the talking hares and have them stationed around the perimeter.

"If they hear so much as a cricket scratch its nose, I want to know about it," he added sternly.

His next stop was Aoife's tent. He met her just as she came round the corner of it, startling her greatly.

"We weren't expecting you for a fortnight," she stated, confused.

"The dead are dead alike," Galian said shortly, taking her by the elbow and steering her back to her tent, "there was no additional reason for me to stay."

She was rather shocked at his lack of emotion, but allowed him to lead her back to the tent. When they arrived, he turned to her and condensed the contents of Domus's diary into a few short sentences, and added, "The Sorcerer never wanted to make peace. He never wanted his own country. He just wanted ours for his own. He'll use Faolan and Eoghan to either blackmail Archenland into submission, or as a ransom. Either way..."

Aoife bit her lip nervously, "I-I've already got them working all day, and well into the night. We're going as fast as we can..."

"I know. All we can do now-"

"Sir Galian!"

A voice from the outside interrupted Galian's statement. He and Aoife rushed out to see a rabbit standing tense and alert, his great ears twitching maddeningly.

"My lord and lady," he said, "there are horsemen, just beyond sight, about twenty yards away or so at my station just before the western ridge. They came racing in a few moments ago, but now they're just standing there. They haven't made any demands; they're just standing there."

Galian turned to Pericles and said, "Make ready the archers."

"How're they supposed to shoot accurately in a bloody fog like this?"Pericles snapped.

"I'm not going there without some form of protection," Galian retorted, "just do it!"

Moments later they were standing with the hare and the other sentries stationed to the far west of the perimeter. Galian himself could hear nothing, but the hare's description the pace of the very breath the invaders took was enough to convince him that the entire thing wasn't a farce. He winded a horn, and shouted, "Who's there!"

There was no response, but the hare twisted his head as though he were confused.

"What?" Pericles asked.

"Someone's coming."

"Only one?"

"Only one."

Presently the sound of hooves was audible to human ears as well. The mist began to clear a bit, and they could just see the outline of a sole horseman. But, again, he stopped, just within eyesight this time, and stood motionless.

"Why doesn't he come the whole way?" the other guards began to ask. Galian called again, "You there! Who are you, and what purpose do you have on these premises?"

No word. Irritated, Galian shouted again, "You are trespassing on the Queen's land, and I demand to know your name, or I shall have my men unleash their arrows!"

The sound of bowstrings tightening was heard all at once. Finally the horseman moved. That is, he dismounted, and held high above his head a sack bulging with something very large and heavy. In his other hand was a spear.

"Sir?"one of the bowmen asked Galian. The latter shook his head, confused but intent on seeing the situation played out.

The man stepped forward, and drove his spear into the ground. The party watched, intrigued, as he pulled the object from the bulging sack. Galian had a sickening feeling that he recognized the object, but couldn't place it at the moment.

"Is that-"somebody began.

"-a head?"someone else finished.

It was indeed. Blood still dripped from it as the man skewered it on the upright spear. Then, fast as thought, he leapt into the saddle, and shouted to his companions to retreat.

"_Let fly_!"Pericles cried, and at once twenty arrows left their masters. Bodies could be heard hitting the ground, but Galian was none too concerned with that. His mind was on the head.

He approached, slowly, sword drawn in case there might be a trap. The guard walked with him, equally cautious. The stopped at the head. Men began to curse. Some of the weaker stomached vomited. Galian himself felt his knees go weak, and sank to the ground. A cold feeling came upon him. He muttered to Pericles beside him, "I do so hate it when I'm right..."

The head on the stick was that of Lord Eoghan.

"I'm not leaving."

Galian stared Aoife and Pericles down defiantly, stating, "This castle needs to be protected."

"And I can't manage that?"Pericles spat angrily.

"This might be the first place the Sorcerer will attack and by the Lion I want to be here to face him," came the retort.

Pericles moved closer to Galian, growling, "And of course you have to be the bloody hero who does that, eh?"

"Damned right."

"Then excuse me if I don't let _your_ pride take command of _my_ guard!"

"This isn't about pride!"

"_Then what is it about_?!"Pericles challenged.

"That's bloody enough!"Aoife snapped, not wanting to start _that_ argument, "Galian, think about the Queen."

"What about her?"

"The Sorcerer's going to come for her sometime soon. So go to Anvard and let him come to you."

"Most of Archenland will be laid waste by then!"he argued.

"The army is perfectly capable of functioning without _you_!"said Pericles, crossing his arms.

Aoife glared at him, "Don't start. Galian, I'm asking you, please go to Anvard. If anything, you're Elisud's best friend. He'll want to hear the news of his brother from you."

Galian felt that bite of guilt, but still resisted, "But the castle..."

"Leave it to us," she told him, but Pericles shook his head, "You're going with him."

"Excuse me?"

"You're coming with me," Galian cut in, with as much certainty in the matter as Pericles.

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, for heaven's sake!"

"It's too..."

"Dangerous?"she finished Pericles's statement.

"Yes!"

"For the last time, I'm not some blinking damsel in distress!"

"And you're not a soldier, either, "said Galian, "if I have to leave, you're coming with me."

They argued round for another half hour, but in the end, the men had their way (or, rather, Pericles had his way, for Galian was still intent on staying). Galian and Pericles left the tent so Aoife could prepare for the journey. When they were out of earshot, Pericles grabbed Galian roughly by the elbow, pulled him aside, and warned Galian through gritted teeth, "If your antics cause her any harm..."

"My antics?" Galian asked incredulously.

"Yes, your antics! You and I both know you're doing this to try and win Aoife over. It won't work!"

"My dear Captain, if I were playing the hero to win Aoife over, I'd have picked an easier fight than that with a Sorcerer!"

"Do not mock me!"Pericles raged, "I swear on my father's grave, if you..."

"Rest assured," Galian interrupted, "romance is the last thing on my mind at this moment," and with one quick motion he jerked his arm free.

Pericles made way to Aoife's tent. She was packing rather frantically, and jumped as he walked in. "What is it?"

"Don't let him force you into a bad situation."

She hesitated in her packing, "What?"

"If he tries to play the hero again, just let him play his game! _You_ get back to Anvard!"

"Pericles, he's not just some show off!"

"He is too! And he's trying to win you from me!"

She tried to dismiss him, "Don't be ridiculous!"

"It's true, Aoife! He's always tried to impress you with what he's done. And you've bloody fallen for it!"he accused.

"Pericles, now is hardly the time for all of this!"

"Then when is the time?!"he roared. Surprised at his outburst, Aoife stood motionless as he raged, "For years now, you've put me off. You've always told me 'now isn't the time.' I'm tired of waiting, Aoife! If now isn't the time, when will the damned time come?"

"When I say so!"

They glowered at each other, fuming, until she said, "I haven't the time for this. We'll discuss it later."

He moved his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but shut it, and stormed out of her tent.

The ride was awkwardly silent. The head sat before Galian in a wooden box, for lack of anything better to do with it. There was only a guard of three, with two falcons flying overhead. They wouldn't allow any more to travel away from the castle. Pericles was not there to see them off; Galian and Aoife avoided each other's glances upon learning thus. They were both painfully aware of the reason.

A dark cloud lay over Anvard. Fat drops of rain bombarded Galian and Aoife as they walked inside, Galian still holding the box. As he walked, he went over and over again in his head what he might say. How exactly do you tell someone their husband and brother was dead, that his very head lay in the box you so unceremoniously carry before you?

They knew the captain of the Queen's guard quite well, and it was he that sent for the Queen. They were asked to wait in a little room, giving Galian the opportunity to set the box on the table to rest himself. As he did, he muttered, "Whatever am I to say?"

Aoife lay a sympathetic hand on his arm, "The truth. It's all you can say, really."

The guard returned all too quickly, followed by the Chief Steward, an owl named Blodeuwedd. She gave an awkward bow, before replying, "I'm sorry, Sir Galian, Her Majesty is unavailable at the moment."

"It's rather important."

"Regarding what, exactly?"

"The death of her husband."

Blodeuwedd and the guard both started, and looked to Galian's face to see whether some trick, as cruel as it might be, revealed itself. But Galian's face was hard as stone, and he placed the box on the table between the four of them. The guard moved to it, removed the lid, and jumped back. Blodeuwedd looked at him curiously, who told her solemnly, "Take them to the Queen."

The Queen's chambers were in the middle of the castle. It was a good ten minutes' walk. There were multiple guards at different entrances. It was at the first series of guardsmen that they were asked to relinquish their weapons (no one save guards were allowed to carry weapons beyond that point). They passed into a hall where another series of guards searched them, then were escorted down the hall, where they were once again searched, then taken to a door, where they were told to wait until announced.

The guard then motioned for them to come in. Galian took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and entered, Aoife's hand on his back, somehow giving him strength.

Her advisors were all there, minus two, of course. They were strangely stiff as they saw Galian enter. The Queen herself looked at the box fearfully.

"Your highness," Galian began, but was cut off by the Queen.

"Is that my husband?" Her voice was tearful, strained, and fearful. Galian wasn't sure what to say.

"Is that my husband?"she asked again, her voice stronger, rising from her chair, "Is it? Answer me, Galian!"

Galian licked his lips nervously, his voice somehow having escaped him, and nodded.

Lord Aidan caught her just as her knees gave way. He sat her down in her chair, and she began to sob hysterically. As a Queen, she was never known to show emotion; to do so was a sign of her womanly weakness. But now she cried like no widow has ever cried before, and, despite the protests from all present, reached for the box that held Eoghan's head, lifted the lid, and shrieked. It was quickly taken from her as she embraced her brother in law, tears streaming down his face as well. He looked to Galian, his fact full of hurt, and Galian ached to comfort him, to take vengeance on his behalf, to do anything to make the hurt his friend felt go away. But he couldn't. He could only stand there, shaking, completely unable to do anything. It was the worst moment of his life.

It was long past midnight, but still Galian did not sleep. He was in a room, the one he usually stayed in while visiting Anvard, sitting before a desk, head in hands. He had shed his tears, tears for a great leader, tears for Elisud. He felt completely empty, and yet so very sick.

There was a knock at his door. Startled, he rose to answer it. It was the head of the Queen's guard, once again.

"Her majesty requests your presence," he said. There was something odd about him, his voice seemed so distant. He must have been very tired.

"Now?"

"Yes. It is a secret council. She needs your advice regarding the Sorcerer."

"Shouldn't that wait until after the funeral?"

"Do you think the Sorcerer will wait until after the funeral?"came the haunting answer.

It was a good point. Galian dressed, and followed the guard. His torch illuminated their path, a long one that the weary and emotionally drained Galian was not prepared to walk. But again, they came to the Queen's chambers.

"Hand over your weapons, please," the sentry requested.

Out of habit, Galian's hand flew to his side, but he found nothing there. Puzzled, he told the sentry, "I don't think you ever gave them back to me."

"Of course. My mistake. Continue."

As they passed, Galian made a mental note to tell the Queen she ought to employ sentries who were better capable of keeping watch during the wee hours.

They came to the door of the council chambers. The guard stood to one side. Frowning, Galian asked, "I just walk in?"

The guard nodded. Galian pushed the door and walked inside.

He had never met such macabre in all his life. The Queen was seated at her chair at the head of the table, her throat slit, her eyes wide open in horror. The other members of her cabinet lay, dismembered, on the floor or across their chairs. In the corner of their room was a back very familiar to him. Protruding from that back was the point of the sword.

The body turned. Elisud had a look of surprise on his deathly ashen face. Galian's sword was stuck in his chest.

Galian had crossed the room and caught him as he fell forward. He withdrew the sword, sobbing, "Elisud? It'll be alright, just...don't move. _Guard_!"

"Galian..."Elisud choked, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shut it, you great idiot. There'll be no talking like that. _Guard_!"

Elisud's blood was flowing freely onto Galian's clothes. Galian ripped off a piece of his outer tunic, stopping the flow as best he could.

"Galian...I didn't believe you..."

"It doesn't matter, Elisud. Don't talk," Galian wept, pulling Elisud onto his lap, cradling him like a child.

"But it does. You were right," here Elisud coughed, "You were right about him..."

"About-about who? Elisud, don't!"

Life was draining from the young man. His face was whiter than any man's should be. He began to cry himself, whispering, "I'm afraid..."

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Galian cried, rocking him, "Aslan has you now," he finished, resigning himself to the inevitable.

"Aslan..."

The fearful face changed to one of peace. His breathing became easier. Galian continued to sob hysterically, laid his head on Elisud's, and rocked his friend until he died.


End file.
